


all this truth and consequence

by ennaih (aquandrian)



Series: the Rebel Krennic AU [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Imperial Jyn, Pregnancy, Rebel Krennic, Well almost everyone, also because I have very strong feelings about Lyra Erso, also discussion of pregnancy fears, also some gore at the very end, and all your baddies are goodies, cos i am such a Foucauldian feminist, did i forget to say, everything is flipped orright, or at least everyone's morally grey, so all your goodies are baddies, some smut, this is my love song to Lyra Erso orright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9177616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquandrian/pseuds/ennaih
Summary: Former Imperial officer Jyn Erso turns up at the shipyard where Rebel smuggler Orson Krennic’s freighter is docked. This may have serious implications for the fate of the galaxy.The epic sequel tosome ragged strangerthat actually quite a few people asked for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _The Mercy Seat_ by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.
> 
> Warning: this is not necessarily a happy and fluffy fic, okay? Because if I'm going to write pregnancy fic, it **_will_** address all the horror and terror that involves, so be warned. But don't worry, everything turns out all right.
> 
> Thank you so much to shanjedi for brainstorming this with me months and months ago; and all the MendHo writer love to onstraysod for reading through this despite migraines, for picking up all the missing or extra 's'es (wtf GDocs), and for so patiently fielding all my anxiety about this story. Thank youuuu! <3 <3

The Tangara is nothing like she imagined. She had thought it’d be like him, sleek and dangerous. Instead it’s absurdly round and lopsided, a YT-1250 which was of course the sort of light freighter favoured by smugglers and privateers. Jyn Erso sighs a little at the obviousness of it but walks on through the organised chaos of the shipyard. Her pack is beginning to dig into her spine. Conversations of Basic and half-recognised languages around her, showers of sparks and the occasional yell. And she’s so damned tense she could throw up.

As she approaches one of the boarding ramps, an astro droid skids down and hurtles past her. She hears him before she sees him. 

“Look, I know it’s expensive but we need it. We need to be -- you know we need the business and we may as well --” He doesn’t sound like he did in interrogation, it’s almost shocking how casual and affectionate he sounds. Now she hears the Mid Rim accent, so much lovelier than the clipped edge he used with her in that steel room. As he comes down the ramp and rounds the curve of the ship, he’s looking over his shoulder, talking at the creature behind him. She knows she’s staring, she can’t help it. It’s been four months and though he sounds so different, he looks exactly the same. The same unruly silver brown hair, the same rumpled civilian clothes. 

For a while there, she had wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing.

She hadn’t.

The tall bluish xeno sees her first and says something to him. It’s not a language she recognises but then he turns and it doesn’t matter.

Krennic sees her and stops. His face is so much more handsome than she remembered. Had she actually realised? He stares at her with hard blue grey eyes, the contours of his cheeks and jaw tapered, clean shaven and curiously beautiful. She looks at his mouth, the unrelenting line of it and suddenly remembers what that heat felt like between her thighs. Behind him, the xeno says something and moves off into the bustle of the shipyard. 

Krennic doesn’t react, his head slightly inclined and perfectly still. His gaze has skidded down her body and back up, and now he’s watching her with so much thought flashing fast behind the so cold eyes. “Did she send you?”

And Jyn remembers what it’s like with him.

“What if she did?”

All defiance and battling wills. Only this time it’s not quite so much fun. This time she has no power behind her at all. And she hates it already, hates the way she has to demean herself now.

They’re staring at each other in the middle of the shipyard, one small domestic drama unnoticed in the business of the galaxy. And he knows the filigree network of schemes and agendas working around them, he senses them. Jyn sees this, knows she looks as ruthless as he does.

He takes a few steps towards her, unheeding of the droids carting ammunition past him. He won’t touch her, this much is obvious, but he comes close enough that she’s forced to look up into his face, realising again how much taller he is than her. Clear blue grey eyes, the scent of engine oil and male warmth, his voice silky. “What if I don’t believe you?”

“What if you’re wrong?”

His eyes narrow but then he does look at her mouth, that heat flaring between them. It licks over her skin, uncomfortably familiar and unwelcome. He steps back almost immediately, as if he feels it too and doesn’t like it. She watches as he glances around, watches the quick intelligence of his face before he looks back at her and says, “We can’t talk out here. Come on.”

The shipyard cantina is noisy and humid, a heightened cacophony of scents, all bodies and booze and food. They find a booth at the back where it’s relatively quieter. Jyn, former Imperial officer, pretends not to notice a few enemies of the Empire colluding with what look like supposed neutrals in the next few booths. When the harassed service droid rattles up, she orders a caf, and Krennic asks for what sounds like alcohol. The fact that she doesn’t recognise those words either unnerves her. She’s travelled all over the damned galaxy but this shipyard and this cantina -- this man -- make her feel like she’s been in a cloister all her life, now utterly wrongfooted by everything.

Krennic says nothing until their drinks arrive, watching her intently. She doesn’t respond to this tactic, concentrating instead on breathing steadily. The smells of the cantina are a constant assault on her senses and she cannot, will not give him or anyone else the satisfaction of seeing her undone. When the caf appears, the scent is so awful she immediately pushes it away.

“Why now?”

The clipped voice is back. So be it. His trust is something she’ll have to earn, and maybe never get. So she plays it level, keeps her expression neutral and just appealing enough because that’s what he’ll expect. “I couldn’t stay any longer --”

“You expect me to believe she threw you out? Her most prized Imperial officer?” His gaze doesn’t waver.

“No,” Jyn says calmly, aware of the truth right there within reach. “No, I left of my own accord.”

“Why?”

She doesn’t have to pretend when her gaze drops to the worn and dirty table between them. It’s some sort of awful wood, probably rotten through with parasites, faintly reeking to her sensitive nose. “I don’t …” She clears her throat, hands curling on her thighs under the table. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

He is unmoved. “No friends in the Empire?”

She shakes her head, watching as he reaches for the drink and sips, watching her back. “No, it isn’t that. They --” 

Cassian and Baze and Chirrut, all fierce and eager champions to her cause.

“I couldn’t tell them. They wouldn’t understand.”

“What?” He’s being cruel now. “That you fucked a prisoner and now --”

Her head snaps up, eyes blazing. “That’s none of their business.”

The sneer vanishes from his expression, his gaze narrowing on her. “You don’t want them to know.”

“No,” she lies, trying to believe it. Knowing that she could flee to them any time, and they would take her in. Realising that oh god, this is entirely a reversal of their last -- their first -- meeting. Now he’s the one pursuing her secrets, hunting her with his intelligence. 

“Why, Jyn Erso?” he says softly. “Why have you come to me? When you could be safe in the Empire.”

Jyn swallows, irritated, and looks directly at him. “I’m terrified of the medical droids.” Her voice falters on the last word, infuriating to her own hearing. “I don’t want them anywhere near my baby.”

“And yes,” she adds as his eyes flare, “yes, it’s yours.”

___________

 

“I won’t protect you from the Rebellion,” he tells her as they go up the ramp.

“I know,” Jyn says, calm now that she’s gotten past the first and hardest hurdle. “They’ll want to question me.”

“Yes.” Krennic is giving her that narrow look again. “But you won’t have to worry about that for a little while.”

“Why?” She follows as he heads into the cockpit. The ship is clearly old but cared for and well rigged out. As she casts an eye over the instrument panel, Krennic takes the pilot seat and flicks the navigation system on.

“Because if it’s droids you want to avoid, we have to find someone else to look after you.” 

He’s all matter of fact efficiency now, not friendly but not hostile either, the Mid Rim accent still a little polished at the edges. She nestles into the copilot seat, distantly aware from the smell that this is probably where the xeno sits, and watches as Krennic flips switches above his head and starts the ship thrumming with energy. Is this what he looks like in his element, the smuggler captain in his open blue shirt and grey tank and loose charcoal trousers swivelling his chair around to grab the comm unit?

“Nee-For, Reed. Arses back here, we’re leaving.”

There’s a series of indignant beeps in response as well as a guttural tone, both ignored as he sets the comm aside and turns back to her. His hair is unutterably messy and attractive. “I know you Imperials don’t know much of compassion or getting along with other species in the galaxy but,” he says firmly, “you treat my copilot with respect or I will boot you the fuck off at the next planet, baby or not. Do you understand?”

She grins, not believing that for an instant. “All right. What’s his name? Is it a him?”

A spasm of exasperation around his eyes, Krennic replies, “His name is Reed. He’s Myneyrshi and he’s the best damned copilot I’ve ever had. So you -- right, you lot,” he breaks off as the droid rounds the corner of the corridor. “Let’s get off this rock.”

Jyn squeezes past the tall blue creature, relieved that it -- he -- doesn’t acknowledge her at all. The astro droid pauses to regard her for a moment but then Krennic yells “Nee-For!” and it disappears down a corridor. That’s his crew, then. A droid and a xeno, whatever the Myneyrshi are. 

Now as the Tangara shudders into the air, Jyn secures herself in a seat in the crew lounge and finds herself cradling the small swell of her belly. It feels like the ship curls around her like her body curls around her child. Concentric shells of protection.

___________

 

She dozes off without realising and wakes to find Krennic standing with a cup of steaming caf, watching her. “Oh god,” Jyn says, clapping a hand to her mouth at the memory of the awful cantina. Krennic steps forward, instantly alarmed. But it’s all right, her stomach settles and she watches as he retreats again, that wariness back in his expression.

“I need to search your pack,” he says. 

Jyn shrugs, having expected this. He flicks her that alert look again as he puts the mug down on the counter. Her pack has been set by her feet, and now she looks at the silver strands of his hair as he crouches down and puts it upright. His hair curls at the ends, so unlike hers. And with her hand still on her belly, Jyn wonders with a small shock whether their child will have that same curl. Whether it’ll have the perfect beautiful shape of his eyes and the same pale lashes.

Krennic searches her pack in silence, his hands quick and impersonal on her clothes and toiletries. “Where are we going?” she asks after a while, watching his so composed profile. 

“A free clinic I know. We’ll be there --”

He stops and glances up at her face, minutely startled. 

“I told you,” Jyn says, taking the holographic still from him. “I knew what she looked like.”

He doesn’t say anything, his throat working for a few seconds. The pouch is still in his hand, he’s not interested in the crystal. So much justified suspicion in the way his gaze moves over her face, so much thought in the glitter of blue eyes. 

“You think I’m going to take you to your father,” he says eventually, his voice sort of hoarse.

“I don’t care about my father.”

He scoffs at that, so contemptuous it’s thrilling all over again.

“I don’t,” Jyn says equably. Looking down at the picture, she rubs her fingernail against the curve of her mother’s jawline. “I don’t expect you to believe me but I don’t care about him.”

“Now you care about her?” There’s a precise delicate poison in his tone. Maybe it does wound her a bit, expected as it is. So she goes with it. 

She looks at him and says simply, “Yes. I need her now. Now when I --”

He understands before she says it, the realisation widening his eyes a little. She says it anyway, secretly delighted at being able to say it openly. “-- when I’m going to be a mother too.”

The terror screams long and loud at the back of her mind, several deafening seconds that she hopes don’t show on her face. Maybe it doesn’t. He takes the still from her, his touch careful, and returns it to the pouch, puts that into her pack. And somehow in her body, with her child, Jyn feels lonelier than ever.

Without looking at her, Krennic says, “I know where she’s buried. I could take you there. I don’t --” he glances up at her, something dark in his eyes, and also something like compassion “-- I don’t know how much good that will be.”

“No, I don’t want that. I don’t know …” She sighs, rubbing her forehead to shield her face from him a bit. “I don’t know what I want. Maybe it’s foolish, maybe we should just --”

They both hear the word. We.

“-- just focus on the child for now. It doesn’t matter what I want about my mother, just foolish things.”

He nods, thoughtful. It seems so much more tangible now, their connection, now that she’s with him and he’s within reach. The baby that connects them, the ship that surrounds them. Jyn watches him with the quiet aching urge to reach out her hand and touch the curl of his mouth, to feel the lined and freckled skin of his cheek. She knows so very little of him. What she knows of him is so intimate and yet somehow worthless in the face of all the history and warmth denied to her. 

Krennic gets to his feet, smooth and graceful, and looks down at her with that strange hauteur again. “I need to search you.”

She chuckles up at him. “Shouldn’t you have done that before I got on the ship?”

He grunts, stepping back to let her rise. “Probably.”

“Mm.” Jyn holds out her arms, keeping her gaze up as he puts his hands on her. He pats her down briskly, finds the concealed blasters and the knives as she knew he would. His warmth is intoxicating, the scent of him rich with caf and the hint of cigarra. Down at her ankle, his hand lingers for just a couple of seconds and he finds the third knife strapped inside her boot. “Is that it?” he asks, slightly amused, up at her.

“I don’t know,” Jyn replies, a secret wicked pleasure warming inside. “Is it?”

There’s that flare of intensity in his eyes again, she recognises it, remembers it now as a mix of lust and appreciation. Krennic gets to his feet, entirely in her personal space, coming up her body in an unfolding of male muscle and hot blue eyes. His mouth a breath from hers, Jyn feels herself leaning into him, up towards the irresistible curve of his lips. And then she feels it, a soft shocking touch between them. He touches the palm of his hand to her belly, silent, watches her watch him. His hand spreads flat across the tiny hidden shape of their child, and she feels the throb of her own pulse there, feels her blood circle around their child and connect the three of them.

“Orson,” she says on pure ragged instinct, astonished that she even remembers, wanting him so much.

He flinches, and leaves, taking her weapons with him.

______________

 

The free clinic is a big pristine building on a central planet of ostensibly neutral standing. Slightly astonished, Jyn follows Krennic through the transparisteel sliding doors into the gleaming reception. There’s so much wealth here, how could it possibly be a free clinic? How could he possibly want her here?

“I don’t like this place,” she says quietly as they sit and wait to be called.

He glances sideways at her, so sleek from the curve of his cheekbone to the line of his mouth. “It’s safe. I know the managing committee. They have the best doctors here.”

He’s not listening to her. Panic surges through her, thoroughly irrational and undeniable. But she stays quiet, feeling somehow smaller and younger beside him, feeling so damned uncertain and hating all this. After so much turmoil for four months and then the decision, after the search and finding him, now suddenly she realises how adrift she is, cut off from all the structures and surety she used to know. 

She did this, it was her decision. But Jyn doesn’t bury her head in her hands and cry like she wants to. She curls her fingers into her palms and breathes in deep. Sends her consciousness deep into her body where the child breathes and sleeps. Beside her, Krennic glances again in her direction, maybe sensing her agitation. But he says nothing and he doesn’t touch her, and she finds herself staring at his hand on the strong line of his thigh. Wanting willing him to take her hand because she needs something, she needs something to anchor her in all this violent upheaval.

He walks her to the door of the doctor’s office but when the doctor asks if she wants him to accompany her in, Jyn shakes her head. He nods at the edge of her vision -- she can’t look at him -- and the door closes with him out in the corridor.

“Please sit down,” says the lady doctor. She seems regal somehow, dark hair and serene face, dressed in blue and muted gold. The office is the same gleaming white as outside but Jyn tries to take some comfort from the kindness of the smile the doctor gives her. The nameplate says Dr Organa. “But you can call me Breha if you like,” she says. “Now tell me. How do you feel?”

Jyn very nearly bursts into tears. As it is, she digs her nails hard enough into her palm that the urge subsides. The doctor’s eyes flick to her hand and then back to her face. As Jyn swallows, trying to find words that would be appropriate without sounding hysterical, Breha Organa says, “This is your first pregnancy?”

Jyn nods, knowing she looks terse and feeling anything but.

“A lot of first time mothers are very, very scared, you know. Some third time mothers, too. It’s all right to be frightened,” says Breha. “Your body is changing, your body suddenly feels like it’s not yours. And maybe -- was --” the doctor blinks and says steadily “-- was the conception consensual?”

“Oh yes,” Jyn says without thinking. But that seems so very long ago and so much has happened to her body since then, so much different emotion roaring through her. Breha’s face softens around her smile. “Well, that’s good, then. And you want this child? We can talk about how you feel, if you like?”

“Are you -- do you have kids?” Jyn interrupts. There are no pictures of family she’s noticed. And now Breha’s face smooths into a serenity that horribly reminds Jyn of auburn and white.

“I have a daughter,” says Breha Organa. “I didn’t give birth to her but she is mine.” When Jyn glances away, jagged and inadvertent, she continues gently, “Do you think that means I didn’t fear and worry? For her, for all the mistakes I’d make as a mother?”

The words won’t come, congealed in her throat.

“I do understand how you may feel, Jyn. We have a group of expectant mothers who meet here, who come to talk and support each other. That might be something you’d like. You won’t be alone in this time, Jyn. Please understand this. We know how difficult and strange this can be, and we are here to give you whatever you need. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” she replies, thinking of the man in the corridor. Why he brought her here, to this doctor. Something is tickling at the back of her mind, something as she looks at this woman’s face.

“How old is your daughter? Is she like you?”

There it is again. That deliberate smoothing of expression, like a shield comes down behind the eyes. Something there to be concealed and protected. Jyn scents it like she’s back in the interrogation room, some instincts aren’t lost after all. She watches as Breha considers for a few moments and then clearly decides to tell her, to employ this particular tactic.

“My daughter,” she says with a difficult calm, “is very, very talented and very powerful. She has abilities that not everyone understands or can deal with.” And now Jyn sees the steel at the core of this woman. “A lot of people fear my daughter --”

“Do you?”

Her mouth tightens. “No. My husband believes Leia will come back to us, that she’ll see the wrongness of the path she’s on.”

“But you don’t.”

Breha Organa is silent for a moment, her face hard. Then: “You’re Imperial.”

Jyn stiffens in the chair. “I was. Is that a problem? I was given to understand --”

The doctor makes a short sharp gesture, irritated. “I have no interest in politics. I’m here to give help to the women who need it. And you’ve fled the Empire for … a rebel?”

Jyn almost laughs, it’s such a fucking absurd concept and even more hilarious because she sees now how obvious it seems. “I left for my own reasons.” She lets her tone soften a little. “Maybe your daughter will, too.”

In the moment of silence, so much unsaid between them, Breha inclines her head, gracious and regal once more. “How would you feel,” she says carefully, “about letting me examine you?”

The bile rises up in Jyn once more, fear stampeding through her, but she stifles it and nods. Maybe it’ll be all right. Maybe there’ll be a crucial difference between the touch of a droid and the touch of a human woman.

____________

 

There isn’t.

She puts a stop to the examination, ignoring Breha’s reassurances, pulls her clothes back up, and leaves without a backward glance. Krennic takes one look at her set face and deftly manouevres them out of the clinic. Back on the ship, Jyn says, “May I please lie down somewhere?” She can’t look at him, doesn’t want to look at anyone in the face right now.

“Of course,” he replies. He shows her to what looks like his quarters, a wide soft berth surrounded by the few ramshackle possessions of a man who lives in space. Jyn doesn’t protest, she takes off her boots and climbs into the berth, so close to crying she doesn’t want him to see. The covers pulled over her, she curls on her side, hands fastened tight at the base of her abdomen. For a few agonised seconds, she knows he’s still standing by the bed, watching her. And maybe she’s overwrought but it feels like he’s upset for her too. No, she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care. Jyn tugs the covers over her head, tears leaking into the pillow. 

He leaves soon after, and she cries herself to sleep. Her dreams are violent, so full of images of attack and violation, so full of fear. At some point, she surfaces to hear the murmur of voices in the crew lounge nearby. Krennic’s low serious voice and the xeno -- no, the Myneyrsh replying in his own language. They’re talking about her, of course they would be. Men, the males of two species discussing what to do with this female. She’s too tired to feel mutinous. 

When she wakes a while later, groggy and a little headachey, it’s to Krennic entering with a bowl of something steaming and fragrant. “Here,” he says with something like gentleness. “You’re probably hungry.”

The guilt stabs at her, of course she should eat, of course she should be more conscious of what she owes the person developing inside her. Struggling up in the bed, Jyn pushes the covers down and accepts the warm bowl. “Thank you.”

He makes an acknowledging sound in his throat and almost sits on the bed but changes his mind at the last second. She pretends not to notice when instead he crosses the small space to sit on the chair by the small chaotic desk. They’re flying, she knows that much. But really she doesn’t want to ask to where. She can’t bring herself to care right now.

“Please don’t ask me to go back there,” she says, focusing on spooning up the thick soup.

“No, of course not.” After a few moments, he adds, “Reed has a suggestion. His people, the Myneyrshi -- do you know much about them?”

She shakes her head, catching his eye. “Nothing.”

“They don’t care for technology, they’re pretty infamously opposed to it, actually. Yeah,” he flashes a grin at her ironic look, “Reed’s a bit of an exception like that. He -- well, anyway, that’s his story to tell. What he wanted me to say was that the Myneyrshi, despite their lack of technology, have a fairly successful birth and child survival rate.” He seems to hear himself then and winces. “What I mean is there are,” he makes a hapless gesture, “fat little babies everywhere, healthy mothers, screaming hyperactive toddlers all over their villages. Believe me, I know,” he says, somewhat ominously. 

She grins across at him. “Sounds awful.”

The corner of his mouth turns up, secret gleaming amusement in his eyes. She likes the weight of his attention, likes that he watches as she eats. It doesn’t seem to matter why he watches her, what he suspects. Right now it’s enough that he’s here.

“Have you eaten?” she asks, scraping the spoon across the bottom of the bowl.

“Mm-hmm, a little earlier. Do you want some more? There’s some left.”

She shakes her head. “No, thank you.” This politeness between them is so strange and yet charming too, a weird sort of sweetness about it. As she puts the bowl on the covers, arranging the spoon, he says, “Why didn’t you get rid of it?”

Jyn stares at the worn shape of the spoon and then raises her eyes to his face. He’s not cruel now, more serious and still that keen intelligence watching and measuring. “When you found out,” Krennic says, “you could have easily fixed the situation. The Empire wouldn’t protest, surely. No one would have to know.”

He leans forward a little in the chair, elbows on his spread knees, the blue grey eyes unsmiling. “See, I was thinking. This has cost you everything. Your career, your life, everything that was familiar for almost all your life. Why didn’t you take the easiest way out?”

Another test. 

He may never trust her. 

And maybe that shouldn’t matter to her.

But here it’s easy to tell the truth. It rises fierce in her, undeniable. “This is my child,” Jyn says. Her voice rings in the small dim space, she knows her eyes flash at him. “I am responsible for her. Him,” she falters. “Whichever.” Her face hardens again. “No one is going to take this child from me.”

He’s doing that thing where he looks at her from under his brows. She remembers how it unnerved her a bit in the interrogation room, that slight twist of arousal at the lethal contained power of him. “And what if I try?”

She breathes for two beats. “I suppose we’ll find out then.”

His mouth quirks, the only sign of humour in that beautiful cryptic face. When he rises and takes the bowl, she lies back down, her fatigue returning with the softness of the berth. And then it occurs to her. “I’ve taken your bed.”

At the entrance, he half turns. “That’s all right. I’ll sleep in the crew lounge.” 

Her breath catches in her throat, too much thought and desire going through her head and blood. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

He doesn’t acknowledge this, the door sliding shut behind him. 

Telling herself not to be disappointed and not to be surprised, Jyn pushes back the covers. Her pack has been brought in and set beside the desk. It’s not likely there are shower facilities on such a small freighter but she feels better for getting out of her stale clothes and undoing her hair. 

Naked, she looks at herself, seeing what he saw at the shipyard. She hasn’t changed that much from when they first met, her pregnancy barely visible this early on. Jyn touches the small curve of her belly, marvelling at the firmness of the little person inside. And she touches the weight of her breasts, already tender and swollen. Breha Organa was right, the changes of her body did frighten her but not as much as they could. Her body is making room and changing for the child that is hers, and that really does make it all right somehow.

____________

 

She’s asleep in a soft night shirt under the covers when the door slides open much later in ship night. The disturbance in air wakes her but she doesn’t move, keeps her eyes closed as he undresses in the dark and climbs into bed beside her. Curiously enough, it’s not desire she feels at this. It’s gratitude. He keeps a distance between them even though they’re sharing the covers, something she will not violate. But his warmth and the sound of his breathing is tangible. He doesn’t relax, she can feel the wariness coming off him. His mind is still ticking away, picking her apart. And secretly devilishly that pleases her. A grin tucked in her cheek, Jyn turns her face into the pillow that smells of him, and drifts back to sleep.

She dreams of water, of lakes filled with so many flower strewn boats. She can’t see what they carry.

Ship morning wakes her with the sounds of the droid and the Myneyrsh in the crew lounge, beeps and the language she doesn’t know. It’s oddly comforting, the sounds of a life they’ve built on this absurdly cosy ship. And there is that man sleeping behind her, his breathing deep and slow, the smell of him warm and lovely wrapping around her. She moves, an unconscious adjusting of position, and realises the distance between them has narrowed considerably. If she moves just that little bit, their bodies will touch. 

So she does, and hears his breathing change. The curve of her bottom, half covered by her night shirt, rubs up against him. And when his hand comes to her hip, she realises that’s his cock she’s rubbing up against, his cock she can feel through the material of whatever he’s wearing. Her eyes open, her mouth opens against the pillow in the dim shadows. There’s a sound in his throat, soft and rough, as he pushes up the fabric of her top, as he puts his hand between them, the back of his fingers against the soft wetness of her cunt. And then she’s turned deeper into the pillow, his cock thick and lovely pushing into her, up into her. Wordless, he seizes the contour where her neck slides into shoulder between his teeth, and fucks her deep and slow, pressed up all the way against her, bare chest to back, hips to hips, a slow melting rhythm of so much rightness, of exactly what she wants. Jyn moans into the pillow, safe under the weight of his moving body, safe in the dark, their child a pulse deep in her belly. It’s as if the thought touches him. His face against her neck and tangled hair, he slides his hand under her rucked up shirt and cradles that swell. She’s held, claimed by his hand and his child and his cock, coming in a tender long bliss, all soft sounds and sensation. 

When he finishes, Krennic eases out of her and turns onto his back, re-adjusting his clothes. His breathing isn’t slow anymore, it’s ragged and shallow. And she knows nothing has changed. Jyn sighs with something like contentment and relaxes into the pillow, her wet thighs drawing up closer to her stomach. They haven’t even dislodged the covers. 

_____________

 

They touch down on Wayland in the mid-morning. The air is damp and exhilaratingly fresh against Jyn’s face when she emerges from the ship. There’s green jungle as far as she can see. Reed and Krennic load themselves up with packages but Jyn isn’t allowed even though she protests she can carry things quite fine. “No,” Krennic says. “Just watch your step, the terrain’s not easy. Come along. See you later, Nee-For!”

The astro droid beeps before zipping back up the ramp. Jyn hitches her pack higher on her back, curious despite herself, and follows the others into the dense trees. It’s a short hike. Before she knows it, they’ve emerged into a sizeable village, a town really of dwellings that look strangely ornate and complicated. 

But then Jyn takes her first proper look at the Myneyrshi and realises she never actually paid any attention to Krennic’s copilot. They’re greeted with affability, the packages taken away with appreciation and some derisive comments. She’s starting to recognise tone if not the actual words, and there’s plenty of joking and sarcasm amid the careful looks at her. Jyn draws close to Krennic without realising, suddenly shy. And apparently without thinking, he puts his arm around her and tells the blue people her name. He says something in their language that cause two very tall female Myneyrshi to push through and take her hands.

“It’s all right,” he tells her. “They speak Basic.”

“Of course we speak Basic,” says the taller of the blue women. “We’re not savages!” 

Jyn finds herself staring at the snouted face, the four arms, and the long ears amid the green hair, faintly horrified. The woman, white-eyed like the rest, clearly decides to ignore this. “My name is Akrsh. Come with us, Jyn. You probably want to bathe and get away from these stupid men.”

“Stupid men brought your stupid holocamera,” yells Reed after them, also in Basic. Akrsh flips him a very rude gesture in response, making Jyn laugh. The other Myneyrshi woman introduces herself as Mzar and proves to be just as scathing as her sister. 

In one of those pretty houses made of so many natural materials she can’t identify, Jyn is run a bath of actual water, and the two women chatter at her from beyond a screen as she washes the grime of travel off her. It’s a delicious feeling to be clean again, to feel her skin glistening and smelling so fresh with the interesting floral soap they gave her. 

If he shares a bed with her tonight …

When she emerges from behind the screen, clad in loose blue trousers and belting the blue top around her waist, there’s a sudden flash of light and a shriek. Akrsh and Mazr erupt in laughter at a very irate older Myneyrshi female who swats at them and yells loud in their language. Jyn is tossed an object that she catches automatically and then realises. While the two are getting scolded, she quickly pushes the holocamera behind a cushion on a woven chair and assumes an expression of suitable innocence.

“Sorry, sorry, Doula!” Akrsh yells in Basic. “Come meet her now. This is Jyn. Jyn, this is Doula Tkara.” 

Doula Tkara has the softest hands Jyn’s ever touched. Her hair is as white as her eyes, her skin smooth and faintly purple. She gazes at Jyn for a few seconds, gently squeezing her fingers, and then says something to the other two.

“Doula says you’re four months along?”

“Yes.” And somehow Jyn knows. There are no steel instruments here, nothing to pry her open and hurt her or her child. Doula nods, patting her hands.

“You’ll be all right, Doula says. You’re very strong. Doula says not to worry, that she’s delivered babies from girls much smaller and weaker than you, and they’re all fine and healthy. That’s true,” Mazr adds of her own accord. “Our mumma’s tiny and look at us!”

When Jyn gives the two of them a dubious glance, Akrsh snorts. “Don’t worry, Mumma’s fine. If she wasn’t off at her flower show, she’d be here to tell you.”

Doula interrupts with something decisive and taps Jyn on the cheek. 

“What?”

“Doula says you need to eat more green things and -- eww, I’m not saying that!” Akrsh looks scandalised. As Doula rolls her eyes and goes towards the kitchen area of the house, Mazr giggles. They’re clearly much younger than Jyn originally thought, possibly closer to teenage girls. “What?” she says, charmed.

“Doula says eat more green things and have more sex, eww, with, eww, old Krennic.”

“He’s not old,” Jyn protests feebly but they’ve already gone to help with the food. 

The energy in the house is boisterous but outside when they gather for the midday meal, the girls quieten down as they sit on either side of Jyn. Still there is a minor explosion of giggles when Krennic strolls up and nods genially at them. He raises a fine slanted brow, but Jyn merely shrugs and smiles back. The sunlight is so clear here. It gleams the silver curls of his hair, slides across the contour of his cheekbone. That’s when she realises just how much she likes to look at him. The thought embarrasses her a little.

“Everything all right?” he asks quietly a while later as they’re eating. The girls are pretending to be deaf, particularly Mazr sitting between Jyn and Krennic.

“Yes, I think so.” She hesitates a few moments and then says in a rush, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He gives her a small sideways smile, his eyes gentle blue. “Wasn’t my idea, remember?”

“Oh. Yes.” Across the many groups of people, Reed is eating with a couple of young very plump blue babies and a Myneyrshi male that even Jyn can tell is particularly attractive. He’s too far away to talk to now.

“Does, um, does the Rebellion know?” Jyn asks, knowing exactly how the question will change him.

Sure enough, his eyes cool on her. “Yes. They know you’re here.”

“Ah.”

In the tense silence stretching between them, Akrsh interrupts. “Well, Doula says Jyn can’t travel after six months so, so --” she falters when Krennic turns his attention to her. “Anyway, that’s what she said,” Akrsh grumbles, retreating behind Jyn, poking violently at her meal. 

Mazr just keeps eating, the tips of her long ears turning more purple than blue.

___________

 

As it turns out, the transmission comes the very next day from the Rebellion. Jyn is to be held as prisoner at headquarters, to be questioned and detained until the council clear her of any threat. They are expected within twelve hours. A small blue hologram of a very rigid man delivers this via Nee-For. 

When the transmission ends, Krennic says, “We’ll leave in three hours. Think you can do that?”

“Yes.” She watches him leave, still so much of a mystery. Nee-For, red and bronze, beeps something at her and then follows his master. Jyn closes the door and looks around at the house that isn’t hers, so pretty and full of sunshine and handmade things. She could get used to this domesticity, the chattering meals and families everywhere, so many fat little babies tumbling over each other. 

But it isn’t her life. Or Krennic’s, she supposes.

Doula gives her a satchel of poultices and medicines, and tells her through the girls to eat more greens, that she’ll be all right and that Krennic will bring her back when it’s time. Jyn hugs her hard, hoping so much that this will be the case. The Empire wouldn’t allow any such thing, she can only hope the Rebellion’s hearts are as soft as rumoured. 

Akrsh and Mazr come with her to the ship, their faces like stormclouds. 

“If they don’t let you come back, we’ll come to you,” Mazr blurts. “We will!”

“You do that,” Krennic says dryly from the ramp, “and Doula will tie you up and personally hand you over to the Psadan.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Jyn interrupts as the girls look aghast. “I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.” But she convinces no one. The girls hold onto her with all four arms -- eight arms, really -- and she pats them awkwardly on the backs, aware of Krennic watching them, his mouth grim.

They get to the base far too quickly for Jyn’s liking. As soon as they make landing and the ramps descend, Rebellion soldiers board the ship in a clatter of boots and weapons. Krennic bursts out of the cockpit, spitting outrage. “What the fuck is wrong with you people? I never gave you permission to come aboard!”

A couple of Rebellion soldiers actually turn a little pale at this. But Jyn’s already in shackles and being led out of the crew lounge, having decided not to resist. “It’s all right,” she says. “I didn’t expect anything different.”

Krennic says nothing, his eyes flashing fury at her bound wrists. Behind him, Reed has picked up a weapon. “No, put it away,” Krennic mutters over his shoulder. The Myneyrsh says something very cynical but Jyn misses half of it because she’s being marched down the ramp. 

The base is a haphazard array of fighter craft and people of various species talking and tending to repairs, droids zipping here and there. Jyn is ushered through to the main hangars, only realising Krennic has caught up with them when she hears someone yell out, “Brought us another stray, Krennic?” There’s a ripple of laughter around them but some people have noticed the shackles and are frowning at her.

In a wide low room of star maps and so very many information displays she’d like to inspect closer, Jyn Erso is brought before a group of old white men in various uniforms. And one woman with the most glorious copper hair watching her very closely. 

“Jyn Erso,” says the tall man with ice blue eyes. She recognises him from the data files, vaguely astonished that he’s as imposing in person as in the holo images.

“That’s me,” she replies, rediscovering her defiance. The soldiers release her and step back at a gesture from Tarkin. And she knows without looking that Krennic is standing just behind her, probably looking as menacing as he did the first time they met.

Tarkin looks her over with a clinical interest and then says, “I’m told you could provide us with valuable information about the Empire. Is this true?”

“It is,” she says without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because … I can?” 

It’s a mistake, she knows that immediately. The Rebellion clearly has no sense of humour and does not appreciate flippancy from a prisoner. As the men react with varying degrees of displeasure, the woman with the copper hair steps closer and stares hard at Jyn.

“That’s not an answer,” she says, green eyes intense. “Tell us. What is it you want for this information?”

Jyn breathes steadily and tells the truth again. “Safety. For myself and my child.”

As the woman glances over at Tarkin, he speaks again. “This is not the first time a woman has come to us seeking protection and it certainly won’t be the last. But we cannot afford to be so trusting. You understand this?”

“Of course.”

He pauses, then: “Is the father likely to be a problem?”

Jyn says nothing.

“Only if you piss me off,” comes the reply from behind her, perfectly smooth and snide. A moment of silence as the Rebellion command all stare at Krennic and then her. Jyn has to fight the urge to smile, feeling how the two of them are weirdly wonderfully united in defiance.

“Very well,” says Tarkin eventually with a dismissive gesture. “You will be taken to appropriate accommodations. We will begin your questioning tomorrow.”

“Hold on,” interrupts the lady. “Tarkin, she’s pregnant! You can’t subject her to interrogation!”

If Jyn’s shocked at such insubordination, clearly the Rebellion command is quite used to it. 

Tarkin glances from the woman back to Jyn. “Jyn Erso, as a former Imperial officer, do you think you’re capable of withstanding interrogation in your condition?”

“Of --”

“That’s not the point, Tarkin! If we interrogate a young pregnant girl --”

Jyn’s back stiffens, and there’s a quiet chuckle behind her.

“-- we’re no better than the Empire. I won’t have it,” insists the woman.

“Well,” replies Tarkin with severe patience, “what would you suggest?”

“I think --”

“Excuse me,” Jyn breaks in. “I’m right here and I’m quite capable of answering any questions. Now or anytime you want. Please,” she appeals directly to the woman. “I don’t want this to go on any longer than it has to.”

It’s entirely the right thing to say. The woman nods, chastened and a certain glimmer of respect in the way she smiles at Jyn.

As she’d led away, still in shackles, Krennic unceremoniously shoves one of the soldiers out of the way and takes her elbow. “Who was that woman?” Jyn asks him, her voice low.

“Natasi Daala,” he replies in the same tone, his eyes scanning the area before them, ever alert. “Well done getting her on your side. She’s a good ally to have.”

“Did --” The words stick in her throat. He glances at her, quizzical, and she makes herself say it. “Did she know my mother?”

This time Krennic’s manner doesn’t go cold. Thoughtful, his gaze moves over her face and eventually he says, “I don’t know.”

She’s shown to a cell of fairly decent size and bedding with the required facilities. At the doorway, the soldier starts to speak, catches sight of Krennic’s glower, and clearly remembers some other important thing to do. 

Jyn sits on the cot, rubbing her freed wrists, as she grins up at him. “They’re terrified of you. Why is that?”

He leans against the doorjamb, all the menace of him sloughing off to insouciance. “I’ve probably drunk them all under the table at some point. Or so they’ve heard. There are a lot of stories,” he admits as she laughs. “You’ll be all right?” he asks and then hears himself. “You’ll be all right,” he assures her. “I’ll bring you your things. And I’ll --”

“You’ll be nearby?” she asks, unembarrassed because suddenly it’s crucial to her.

“Yep.” He says it so steadily, so lovely and strong standing there she wants to put her arms around his waist and kiss his soft crooked mouth. “I’ll be here on base,” Krennic says, his eyes clear and blue.

Jyn looks down at her hands folded in her lap. “All right.” Her desire, their desire seems such a strange thing away from the ship, away from the dark. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says with some awkwardness. “And I’ll see what I can find out. About your mother.”

_______________

 

The interrogation begins about an hour after Krennic leaves her. She knows there’s no way they’d allow him to be present but it doesn’t stop her yearning, hoping against hope, wanting him near. And as the hours drag on, as she talks and talks and draws them diagrams and gives up all the secrets of the Empire, she wonders how they’ve kept him distracted, how they’ve kept him away.

At some point, Natasi Daala says to her, “You know the Empire will likely want you dead after this.”

Her skin goes cold. She should have thought about that more. “I can take care of myself.” But the terror returns, and she dreams badly that night, of blood in auburn hair and screams and Krennic’s freckled throat slit open. She wakes in the middle of the night to throw up, sweaty and so frightened, clutching her belly to keep them safe, wiling them safe. All the medicines and poultices and Imperial training to make it so.

The next morning when she’s led out of her cell, shackled once more, Krennic’s outside the interrogation room, arguing with Daala and Tarkin. That stern man from the holo looks even more rigid in person, watching the confrontation and clearly wanting to be anywhere else. 

“You know just as well what the proper timeframe is for interrogations. Don’t you ever let me hear that she was kept that long again. You hear me? Both of you?”

“Krennic,” begins Tarkin, “you overstep --”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Krennic snarls. “That is the mother of my child. And you remember the things I know.” The cold blue eyes flash from Tarkin to Daala, so ruthless it sends a delicious shiver down Jyn’s spine. She’d forgotten how he could be, the thrill of his rage and the glitter of that manipulative mind. Except when before it had been working against her, now he works that mind to protect her. 

That sends an entirely different sensation through her. 

Daala speaks to her as she approaches. “Jyn, would you please inform your -- Krennic here that you were given all the appropriate breaks and allowances during your questioning?”

The rage is banked somewhat when he sees her. Jyn tips her chin up at him, impertinent. “They didn’t have the kind of chocolate I wanted. I asked for Trammistan.”

Krennic laughs, loud and abrupt. His eyes sparkling, he touches her elbow. “They’re shocking barbarians. I’ll get you some.”

“Okay,” she murmurs, warm all over and shy with it. As she’s led into the interrogation room, Krennic turns his gaze back to the Rebellion command, and she knows all his humour has vanished as quickly as it came.

This time the interrogation is much better paced. And eventually, when it’s just her and Natasi Daala, she summons up the courage to ask. Or perhaps she’s bored of being the one to answer all the time.

“You know who my parents were, don’t you?”

Daala’s brows arch with mild surprise. “Yes, I’m aware. I have no knowledge of your father’s whereabouts, though.”

Jyn flicks that aside, irked. “Why does everyone assume that’s all I want? It’s so tedious. No, I wanted to ask you … did you know my mother?”

Daala regards her with some thoughtfulness. “Personally, no. I never met her.”

“But you’ve heard of her?” She hears the eagerness in her voice, and it’s only a little shaming.

“I know there are records of her, of her life and career. They may be classified now, of course, because --”

“Of my father, yes.” Jyn slumps back in her chair, exasperated and tired of this endless battle with a parent she barely claims.

Daala leans forward, an elbow on the table between them. “If I get you those records?”

Jyn looks sharply at her. “I’ve told you everything I know. There’s nothing I’m withholding.”

“No, I understand that.” Daala smiles, reassuring. They’ve built what feels like a genuine respect, how strange that feels to a former Imperial officer.

“What then?”

Though she knows nothing of Natasi Daala’s military career, Jyn sees now how the mind behind the green eyes moves. “If you could give us access to certain people,” Daala begins carefully.

Jyn goes very still. 

Daala says immediately, “I understand. Shall we continue?”

She knew very well what was done. The suggestion was planted. And as she lies in her cot that night, hands clasped over her abdomen, Jyn thinks it over and over, weighing up all the truths she’s told against the consequences she risks now. Maybe it was naive to think it would never come to this. Maybe there are agendas played out she doesn’t know yet.

And does she want any part of it? She strokes the curve of her child, whispers to it through the blood that connects them. There are so many lies in the galaxy, so many lies between people and hearts. She wasn’t protected from all that deceit, she can’t protect this little life from it. But even though she knows that, she wants to try. It’s absurd and painful but she can’t help wanting to try.

Krennic had come to eat with her earlier that evening. He tells her what she already knows from Daala, that the records of her mother are classified. “But,” he adds, eyes intent, “there are people I can ask. I may be able to get them yet.”

“All right.” She breaks off a piece of the chocolate bar and places it on the edge of his plate. “Do you think they’ll let me go tomorrow?”

“Looks like it. I bloody hope so.” He watches as she bites into the bar. “There can’t be much more to tell, surely. It’s not like they’re clueless.”

Jyn agrees, licking her thumb. “I think it’s more confirmation than anything else.”

“Mm.” Sitting on the edge of her cot, Krennic puts his plate on the floor and takes up his bit of chocolate. It’s her turn to stare, unabashedly fascinated by the curve of his lips and the way they part over the wetness of his mouth. His lashes lower, as if he doesn’t know she’s watching, as if he knows anyway. She wants to lean forward and taste him, taste them together. But the cell door is deliberately ajar and there are little Rebellion soldiers just out of sight.

“And everything’s … all right?” he asks carefully, licking his lips.

“Yes,” she lies easily.

His eyes narrow. “You’re taking the stuff Doula gave you?”

“Yes, and I’m eating more greens too.” She remembers the other bit and laughs, avoiding his eyes with a sudden happy blush.

“What?” He’s caught her mood, lively and curious.

Jyn laughs again, plucking at the sheet covering the cot. “Oh nothing, it was just something she said.”

“What?” He scoots closer to her, his hair curving across his forehead. Tonight he’s in a deeper blue shirt, one that sets off the brightness of his eyes, and that familiar grey tank again with the dark trousers. She looks at the curve of creamy skin below his collarbone, trying to remember how that tasted, whether she ever knew it.

“She said,” Jyn meets his eyes, “not to worry, eat more greens, and have more sex with that old Krennic.”

His head goes back, affronted. “Old! Fuck old, who’s she calling old?”

Jyn giggles. “Well, maybe she didn’t say old.”

“Mm.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, his mouth a subtle curve, so seductive in his own way. “Well …” They both look at the ajar door and he continues, “Well, you’re managing the first two.” He lowers his head and gives her that slow sideways look again. “Maybe the third will have to wait til you’re out of here.”

She breathes in steadily, feeling so much in her body, so present now. “Must it?”

An endless aching moment in which they stare at each other, heat gathering in the air around them. And then he’s leaning towards her, as if he’s drawn to her like something intoxicating. Jyn closes her eyes on a soft gasp, and his mouth is warm and delicious on hers. She gasps again, her hands curling in his shirt, tugging him closer. 

Krennic fucks her up against the far wall, quietly desperate, quietly gleeful, opposite the door left open. It’s so very much a stolen foolish moment of mutiny. And she can’t bring herself to regret a single second of it, not when his mouth is on the underside of her jaw, and he’s got his arms hooked under her thighs, when his cock is driving up into her in long smooth thrusts, bumping up against her swollen womb. His heart thuds against hers, she has the taste of Trammistan chocolate in her mouth, and he’s licking his way to there, to kiss her deep as he fucks her deep. Her hands cupping the back of his head, fingers spread through the tangles of his hair, she holds him to her, and this time their child is protected between them. This time she gasps his name, his first name, and he shudders as he comes into her. 

“Can’t you stay?” she asks wistfully when they’re crammed together on the cot and his fingers are slipping into the sticky wetness of her cunt. 

“Shh.” He presses his forehead against hers, blue through lashes. Their clothes are all pulled askew and uncomfortable around their bodies but neither of them care, clinging to each other in the stupidly narrow space. “Stay,” she moans as he coaxes her to orgasm, her nails digging into the fabric on his upper arms.

“Soon.” He kisses her as she comes down. “Soon, I promise.”

He makes her so many promises. They slip from him earnest and like he gives his trust so easily even though they know he doesn’t. Lying in her cot that night with the ache of his cock still up inside her and the taste of chocolate and him still in her mouth, Jyn reminds herself that she is still not trusted, however warm he is to her, however much his mouth burns on hers. 

He will always choose the Rebellion over her.

____________

 

The next morning they tell her that the interrogation has concluded and that she has to wait while the council examines the information and come to a decision. From the doorway of her cell, Krennic says shortly, “Fine. In that case, you release her to my custody. She doesn’t need to be held here, waiting for you lot.”

Daala chooses to ignore this, sitting on the cot as she looks up at Jyn. It’s very clever positioning, Jyn thinks, Daala lowering herself even as she organises Jyn’s life for her. “In the meantime, you’re most welcome to stay here. We’ll move you to more comfortable accommodations on the base. And,” Daala’s eyes drop to where Jyn’s belly presses a little against her top, “we have excellent doctors here. You’ll be well cared for, I can promise you that.”

She’s decided already but finds herself glancing across at Krennic looking so very insolent as he puts a cigarra to his lips and lights it. 

“Do I have a choice?” she asks Daala.

“Of course,” comes the ready answer.

“Then I’ll go back to Wayland.” Back to the sunlight and the little house with all its intricate crafts. Away from the steel instruments and the invasive doctors. Back to where it could be just her and him together for a while. She looks nervously away from the doorway when that thought forms at the back of her mind.

“You’re sure?” Daala asks. “With the constant Psadan raids --”

“There hasn’t been a raid for months,” Krennic interrupts. “And she’ll be well protected.”

Daala stares hard at him. “I realise Wayland managed to hold off the Empire but you can hardly call it a safe environment.”

“I can, actually,” he says with perfect arrogance. “And Jyn’s told you what she wants.”

Daala gets to her feet, her manner perfectly professional. “Very well.” She looks directly at Jyn. “You understand that Krennic will be responsible for your custody.” 

A moment of silence in which the unspoken threat and the offer layer over each other. “I understand.”

After they walk through the hangars again, through the bustle of activity, Reed meets them as they emerge into sunlight. He’s such a familiar sight, tall and blue, his long face serious as he nods at them that Jyn is startled by her own relief. She smiles at him, about to ask about the girls. But then behind them, Daala calls Krennic to one side. The two of them disappear into the throngs of people, something that makes Jyn’s chest hurt. There’s a touch on her elbow, and Reed says with some awkwardness, “Come, the ship is ready.”

As they work their way between the fighters and ground crew, Jyn pushes the cuffs of her jacket higher on her forearms, hunting through her mind for the right words. “He said -- Krennic said it was your idea to bring me to Wayland. To Doula Tkara.”

Reed says nothing, scanning the area around them, his long stride shortened to match hers.

“I just wanted to say,” Jyn continues haltingly, “I just wanted to say thank you. I don’t know what I would have done, what we would have done, if, if you hadn’t -- ”

He nods, clearly embarrassed now. 

“Anyway, thank you,” she says with sincerity. The Tangara comes into view, boarding ramps down. Jyn looks at it with an absurd gratitude, grins when Nee-For appears at the top of the ramp. As she goes up it, Reed says behind her, “He cares about you.”

She stops, recognising that tone. It’s the protective male friend routine. Schooling her expression to neutral, she looks back at him. Reed isn’t hostile, the white eyes are frowning, strong emotion drawing the long face tight. “He knows he shouldn’t trust you but he cares. And it isn’t just --” a long-handed gesture to her gently rounded belly -- “I’m a father too, I know what it’s like to feel like you want to protect your child from everything in the galaxy.”

Beyond him and the activity of the base, Jyn sees Krennic emerge from the shadows of the hangar, something clutched in his hand. She focuses on Reed instead. “So that’s why he cares about me.”

Reed glares at her. “No. But if you betray him, if you hurt him --”

“You’ll kill me?” she asks coolly.

“No, he’ll kill you. And he’ll take the baby from you.” Reed comes up the ramp and passes her. “I’ll help him.”

She breathes in steadily, knowing she’s been told, watching as Krennic hurries towards the ship and her. She wants to stay and take his hand as she boards but that would be stupid and maudlin. So she flees into the crew lounge, more upset than she likes. Of course his crew would be loyal to him before her, of course she’d be warned by his friends. But last night in her cell, last night with him kissing her and touching her so intimately had made her forget for a while. She is still not trusted.

And if he does think …

Already she depends on him too much. 

When the Tangara has cleared the atmosphere, Krennic comes into the crew lounge to find Jyn sipping tentatively at caf made from the ship’s supply. “Here,” he says, slightly out of breath as he sits down and places a folder of flimsies on the counter between them. She touches it with a quizzical look across at him.

“Natasi Daala,” he tells her, his tone a little strange. “I don’t know how current the intel will be but it’s a start. We can go from there.”

Jyn takes up the folder, her mind crystallising like she’s back in familiar territory. “What do you think she wants in return?”

Krennic lets out an amused breath, his mouth curling. The same dark humour passes between them, takes her back to that steel room where she’d kissed him for the first time, met his bright quick mind for the first time. Now he reaches for the cup of caf. “I don’t know yet. But she’ll ask eventually.” 

He drinks, thoughtful. And Jyn opens the folder, aware of the weight of it, of the expectation. She could tell him now, it could be the two of them against the Rebellion and the Empire. But he drinks her caf and thinks about the schemes he doesn’t know, and she says nothing, starts instead to read the official record of a mother she never knew.

____________

 

By the time they touch down on Wayland, she’s made her way through half the file, dizzied and a little overwrought by so much knowledge and yet not nearly enough. She wants to tell him, maybe she even wishes she had read aloud as she discovered new thing after new thing. But he had left her in peace and gone back to the cockpit. So when they disembark and make their way to the village, she carries all that new knowledge with her, silent and heavy and a little raw.

She doesn’t know what to make of it.

Then it turns out she won’t be staying with Akrsh and Mazr anymore. Krennic leads her to the other side of the village, to a small house that looks slightly disused. “What’s this?” she asks, glancing to where Reed enters his own home across the clearing. “I thought --”

“Their mum’s back,” he says, letting her into the house. “Reed and I thought you might like your own space.”

But Jyn’s already noticed the furnishings and all the little traces of other people. “Someone lives here,” she says, taking off her pack. “Is it yours? Is it you?” Her heart thuds a little in her chest, weirdly excited.

He shakes his head, his mouth grim as he looks around. “No,” he says absently, “no, I usually stay with Reed and Tkir. Or on the ship.” He opens the little stone cool store, the sunlight glimmering his hair through the shaded window. “The family who lived here …” Whatever he sees in there satisfies him, and he closes the store, turns back to her with that same serious look. “They won’t be back for a while.”

“Why?” She feels tired all of a sudden, like all the tension of the past few days has finally come to weigh upon her with the familiar sounds of the village and the warm heavy sunshine. As she sits at the kitchen table, Krennic watches the way she clutches the folder to her chest, something dark in his expression once more. 

“They were captured a while back. Psadan raid. Last we heard, they’re serving out an indentured term somewhere on the other side of the galaxy.” He steps forward and leans the back of his hand against her forehead, his blue eyes concerned. “You look feverish. How do you feel?”

“I’m fine.” But it’s an automatic response and she’s closing her eyes, leaning into his touch. “I’m just tired. I want --”

“You go to bed, I’ll go find Doula.” 

He doesn’t exactly fuss over her but he’s authoritative enough that she smiles a little to herself in the coolness of a soft white bed. She wants to clutch at his sleeve and beg him to stay like she did the night before. But that was then, that was when she had no one but him and he had let her cling to him. Now she closes her eyes as he leaves the tranquil bedroom, feels the distance between them.

There had been a name she recognised in that file. Bail Organa, a senator with Imperial ties, a senator with a doctor wife. That was why Krennic took her to that clinic. And she had passed that test through sheer ignorance, forgetting things she had known as an officer, things she’s now reminded of because of this folder of hidden agendas. Bail Organa and his wife Breha were close with the Director of the Imperial Army. It would have been so very easy to convey a message, to pass on information. 

Information she now has about the Rebellion and its people. 

____________

 

Doula Tkara wakes her from her nap and brings her out into the midday sun of the kitchen where a tiny Myneyrshi lady is brewing up some sort of tea. This turns out to be Akrsh and Mazr’s mother, Girr. She is irrepressibly charming, and translates for Doula as they sit around the carved kitchen table.

“Doula says you’re worrying too much. Why? What are you worrying about?” It’s said with such kindness that Jyn feels the tears prickle at her eyes. Her hands are wrapped around the warm ceramic mug, all patterned with greens and blues. The tea smells so much lovelier than it actually tastes, bitter on her tongue. Girr puts her fine small hand over Jyn’s, her white eyes somehow compassionate even though there’s so much difference of species and history and experience between them.

“What are you worrying about?” Girr asks again, her voice pitched just right, the same pitch Jyn uses in interrogation, respectful and patient. 

“Everything.” Her voice breaks on the end of the word. “Everything. Nothing is right, I can’t do anything, I can’t -- what if I can’t do this? This is not the life I know, this is not -- what I was meant for. And what if I’m a terrible mother? What if I hurt her? What if she hurts me? How am I going to make it through the, the --” she takes a deep awful breath and says it without looking at them “-- the labour. I don’t -- I’m terrified of the … birth.”

In the silence, she thinks they’re judging her and so she rushes to add, now glancing from one to the other: “And I know it’s stupid, I know it is. I’m not the first woman to go through this, so many other women have given birth and have lived through it --”

That flower strewn boat floats through her mind again. It’s like it floats through Doula’s too because she says something and Girr translates steadily. “And many women have died from it too, yes.” She tightens her grip on Jyn’s hand and looks harder at her, says on her own behalf: “You’re not wrong to be afraid, my girl. It is a terrible thing to go through.”

“But you did it,” Jyn realises of her own accord. “You made it through twice.” And Girr is tinier than her, just like the girls said.

“Yes,” comes the reply. “And I won’t lie to you. It was the worst thing I had ever experienced. Both times. I hear it’s easy for some women, maybe it will be for you too --”

“What if it’s not,” Jyn says miserably. Her hand creeps to her belly. “I want her, I do. I want to be a good mother and I want to take care of her and watch her grow into a person. I want all of those things you’re supposed to want, that …” She breathes, somehow finding a calmness. “All of those things I never thought would be for me. But I’m afraid too, I’m so so afraid.”

Doula nods, her face stern and her own hand strong on Jyn’s other wrist. “That’s why you have us,” she says through Girr. “It won’t be easy for you but we’ll help you, we’ll be here, and you’ll make it through. You don’t believe me, I know. But you’ll see.” She pats Jyn’s hand, almost smug. “When the time comes, you’ll see I’m right.”

Girr slants an amused look at Jyn who manages a smile. 

“In the meantime,” Doula announces, “you need to keep active. I don’t want you lying around in bed all day. You’re young and healthy, you need to be doing things.” 

She says something directly to Girr who laughs and tells Jyn, “She wants me to find you something to do. All right, Doula, we’ll work something out.”

Doing something begins with a walk around the village and along the nearby fields. Jyn finds herself surprised at how small but self-sufficient the community is, how the male and female Myneyrshi work and take care of their children. Girr and her daughters seem to be of the few who are cautiously intrigued by technology but from what Jyn sees of the fields and the houses, the rest do just fine without all the tech and gear she’s lived her life around. In the fields, she sees the glimmer of sunlight on silver hair, sees Krennic working alongside Reed, talking all the while.

When Akrsh and Mazr see her, they rush over, all exuberance and relief. “Are you staying, are you staying?”

She grins at them. “I hope so.”

The girls burst into chatter about all the things they could do together but Jyn wonders. How long do they stay here? For the birth? Beyond? Maybe she should discuss these things with him. She should take charge of her own fate, she knows that. She could leave anytime, fend for herself out on the city planets and in the spaceports. But right now, as she looks at the girls arguing with their tiny mother, maybe this is all she can handle. Looking after herself and her own child, preparing for the ordeal ahead.

Girr catches her eye. “Now, now. Remember. No worrying.”

“No.” She smiles back. It’s an impossible promise and one she doesn’t intend to keep. But it is something. Focus on the tasks before her.

After lunch, they return to the women’s house where Girr makes Jyn sit outside in the shade and brings out a slightly alarming wicker box. 

“What’s this?”

“This,” Girr sits down, arranging herself with determination, “is basket weaving. You’re going to learn.”

Former Imperial officer specialising in interrogation, skilled at combat, perfectly capable of killing a man and several other species in a matter of seconds, Jyn Erso controls her expression and tries to learn a new skill. 

She cuts her finger within the first ten minutes and swears so violently the girls burst into laughter. Girr has the salve and bandages ready, chuckling as she tells her, “Yep, that’s what I said too the first time.”

“This is not my best skill set,” Jyn mutters. “What I could show you …”

When the sun lowers in the sky and Krennic comes to join them for the evening meal, he finds Jyn teaching the girls hand to hand combat outside their house. “Have these shenanigans been approved by Doula Tkara?” he asks, ever so ironic.

Jyn pushes her hair out of her eyes, sweaty and happy. “Oh yes. She wants me to keep active. This is me being active.” Inspired, she adds: “Do you want to help? Come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”

He holds up his hands, eyes sparkling blue in the late evening light. “Blisters. That’s what I’ve got. Maybe another time.”

As Girr fusses over him with salve and bacta patches, Jyn realises they’re going to be alone tonight. In what passes for their own little home, borrowed as it is. The thought curls a treacherous warmth through her, shy and sly all at the same time. Above Girr’s bent head, Krennic catches her eye, his smile dimming a little at the edges. 

____________

 

She washes up with Akrsh and Mazr before they all go to eat. Krennic sits with her, his knee touching hers. In the roaring fire light and the comfortable chaos of food and conversation, he says, “You know, there’s a rockpool behind the house. It’s in pretty bad shape at the moment but --” he glances across at a couple of young Myneyrshi boys tussling and about to be separated by an irate father -- “I’ll see if it can be fixed up.” His mouth curves, beautiful and soft, as he looks at her. “It’s nothing like a sonic shower but it might do.”

She smiles back, aware that there’s so much to thank him for, so much he does for her. And all she can do is touch his hand when he’s distracted, a sort of mute shy acknowledgement. 

“You read through the file?” he asks when they’re walking back to the house. The sky is a great dark blue arch of distant stars over them, bound by a circle of black jungle canopy. Jyn looks reluctantly down. “Not all of it but enough. Enough to --” she falters, suddenly not sure how to ask.

He knows. “Enough for somewhere to start?”

“Yes.” 

“Good.” He pushes open the front door. There’s a lamp burning low and safe, making everything golden and shadowy inside. “We’ll start tomorrow, then. What coordinates are we talking?”

She retrieves the folder and they work out the planets and systems together, the intricacies of access and permission. There are two names she wants to look up first, two people who knew her mother. 

“Hm.” Krennic taps his finger on the second name. “That’s going to be a problem. I could wangle access to the first, that’s fine. But the outpost -- I’ll ask around tomorrow, get Nee-For to do some research for us. I’m not sure that planet even exists anymore.” He grins at her, slightly feral and startling. “But we’ll find out.”

It’s like an adventure, she realises. That’s the boyish glee in his eyes, the same spirit of exploration that must have sent him across the galaxy at sixteen. Caught, she grins back and his smile lingers, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Suddenly the house seems that much more private, that much more theirs, an impossible stolen intimacy. Warm with pleasure, Jyn moves back to close the folder and put it safe to one side.

That first night is weird and awkward with the sharing of domestic routines. She washes up again, nervous at the prospect of sharing a bed with him, and considers whether to wear the same night shirt as that first time on the ship. But no, that would be too obvious. So she wears the loose blue pajamas borrowed from the girls, and braids her hair before climbing into the soft white bed. The room is all dark shadows and eerie moonlight through the window with its rolled wicker blind. Jyn lies on her side, automatically cradling the curve of her belly. It’s grown a little, her skin feels tighter across there, and her breasts remain just that little bit sore, subtly larger than they were.

He joins her in bed without a word, the same awkwardness about him. In the dark, they lie silent, apart under the thin covers. She listens to him breathe, listens to the sounds of jungle night beyond the window, beyond the village. And eventually she realises.

She can tell him things in the dark.

So she takes in a breath and says: “She was a scientist, you know.” Then blinks and turns over to look at him. “Did you know?”

He is a shape and a slight glimmer of skin and eyes. The moon lights the far corner of the room but they’re in almost complete darkness. He is just that lovely voice with its Mid Rim accent. “No. I never knew her,” he says with a careful lack of inflection. “All I saw were pictures.”

“He never spoke about her?” Jyn wants to reach out her hand and touch him but not yet.

“Sometimes. When we were drinking, when it was late and he was grieving. But never enough. Or I never remembered. I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice strange.

“No, that’s all right,” she murmurs, touched. 

Krennic turns on his side towards her, his breath warm on a sigh. “What did she work on?”

“Kyber crystals. She mapped cave systems, explored so many worlds. She was a geologist and an explorer.” Jyn smiles in the dark at a woman she’s never known. “She was eternally curious, always learning. A lover of nature.”

He reaches out then, finds her face in the dark. She turns her mouth into his bandaged palm, breathless with emotion, and then he’s kissing her. Soft and warm, his mouth like comfort and generosity. Then she does allow herself to cling to him, remembering how much she wanted this in the cell, how much she wants him despite all the things that separate them. 

“No, you need to rest,” he murmurs against her lips.

She has her hand on his bare chest, her palm finding his nipple. “I need you,” she insists, unashamed to be soft like this. He’s so warm against her, so male and solid, everything she wants to wrap herself around. And here in the dark, he smells like home, fragrant with wood smoke and salve and clean sheets. “I need you,” she repeats.

He groans a little and then kisses her like he can’t help himself. She loves that thought, maybe it’s always been that way for him, right from that first moment on the steel table. So she wraps her arms around his head as he bears her back into the pillows, his hips wedging between her thighs. And oh that feels so good, him right there where she wants him. She tells him so in a whisper, it makes him kiss her deeper, hungrier, sounds of need trapped in his throat. 

It’s pure physical pleasure, intoxicating and enough in itself, enough. She repeats this in her head as she kisses him deep, as she guides his cock into her. Whatever their loyalties, whatever agendas weave around them, they have this. And it’s enough for now, she tells herself.

___________

 

The next day she reads further in the file and everything falls apart.

“You lied to me.” 

They’re walking through the trees towards the ship. When she says this, Reed quickens his pace and goes on ahead, leaving Krennic to turn towards her, his expression carefully neutral. “What?”

She’s not going to cry, that would be humiliating and appalling. Her voice tight, Jyn stands her ground, jaw set. “You said you never met her and that you never met me before the day in the interrogation room. Neither of those things are true. Are they?”

His face is so very cold, the marble control of a righteous man. “You weren’t even a year old. It was hardly a meeting, you were barely a person.”

“But you didn’t think it worth mentioning. That you rescued them from the Separatists, both of them and me. You lied straight to my face, even after you knew I had the file. You knew I’d find out, what possible reason --”

“It wasn’t important.”

“Not --” Jyn breaks off, incredulous. “What, do you fly around the galaxy rescuing so many damned people that --”

“Yes,” he says simply and she falters, staring at him. Krennic squares his shoulders and takes a step back, so very untouchable and arrogant. “Your parents needed someone, I was asked to help and I did. That was all it was.”

As she stares at him with complete bewilderment, he pats his trouser pockets, obviously looking for his cigarras. “Is that it? Are we done with this?”

His eyes are so very clear blue in the sunshine, the pitiless light of goodness without compassion.

“I don’t believe you,” Jyn says hoarsely. 

He shrugs, turning away. “Believe what you want.” He sets off through the trees, silver glinting in his hair. 

Jyn follows, her irritation overwhelming the sheer confusion. “And my father? All those trips, all those times you told me about?” She catches up with him, keeping pace, watching his face as he refuses to look at her. “All that drinking and grieving -- that meant nothing, did it?”

He flicks her a look, the slightest hint of anger around his mouth. “I was the only one he trusted. It had nothing --”

“Why?” she challenges as they go up the boarding ramp. “Why just you?”

Krennic ducks into the ship interior. “That’s just something you’ll have to ask him.” Another sharp glance. “If you ever get the chance.”

That’s the last she gets to talk with him until they get to Coruscant. At the spaceport, she hangs back to watch him charm the officials, the glinting smile and sudden uproarious laugh at some shared joke. Because of him, they wave her through. And as they emerge into the polluted haze of the Galactic City, the stinging silence returns between them. And it does bother her, despite their fraught history, despite everything. She keeps pace with him as they move through the crowds, through to the shopping district. Wishing despite her lingering sense of betrayal that they could go back to the uncomplicated pleasure of the night before, to the sweetness of the time in the cell.

As they wait in the cafe on one of the upper gleaming levels, Jyn picks her moment and keeps her tone as pleasant as possible. “I don’t understand why you lied. There was no need.”

Krennic had been watching the waitstaff concoct some beverage at the counter. Now he turns his head, strands of silver falling across his brow. His eyes aren’t quite as glacial as before. “I don’t have to explain everything to you, Jyn Erso.”

It shocks her badly, far more than maybe it should. Hadn’t she just been telling herself it was purely physical between them?

“Bullshit,” she says instinctively and then rallies. “I have to explain myself all the time. To you, to the Rebellion. I have to answer every question you people throw at me. The least you could do -- I’m not even asking for any political or military information. It’s just -- it’s my family.” She’s not pleading, she’s not. Her fingers curl on the table so she doesn’t reach across to him. “You have a history with my family, you knew her. I --”

“I met her once,” he says flatly. “For as long as it took to get them -- and you -- to safety. That’s how long I knew her.” 

“You brought us here?” She needs to know now, every little way his life intersected with hers. Krennic nods in silence, a sort of hollowness to his face.

“Tell me,” she whispers, and he glances down at where her fingers brush his. The way he shakes his head, the way he lets his hand meet hers -- slowly Jyn begins to suspect. But waits for him to say.

“Not now.” He grasps her hand for one firm second and then pulls back and stands up, the blue grey eyes flicking past her to the customers beyond. “I’ll tell you later.”

The uniformed woman approaching their table sizes up Jyn in what seems like one quick thorough look. “Jyn Erso,” she says with a smile, putting her hand out. “How many times have you been told you look almost exactly like your mother?”

“Not nearly enough,” Jyn replies without thinking, and registers Krennic’s quiet laugh. “Thank you for meeting us, Officer -- I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your rank.”

“Please,” says Anya Foravis of the Bakuran Military Police with a careless wave. “Anya’s fine. I’m afraid I can’t stay too long, I have a contact to meet in a couple of hours.” She grins, taking her little official cap off and smoothing a hand over sleek brown hair tied back. “Hopefully the fool won’t find a transport to jump before I get down to Dex’s.”

Jyn frowns. “You’re going to Dex’s in uniform?”

“Not if I can help it!” Anya laughs. “Now,” she adds, blue eyes turning serious, “Krennic said you wanted to know about your mother, how I knew Lyra?”

“Yes,” Jyn says awkwardly, hating this begging of information from strangers. It’s not like she can approach it as an interrogation. It feels too personal, too much invested, and she can’t manage to slip into that other mode, all the steel calm required for that different persona.

“Well,” Anya begins, settling back in the chair. “Oh, Krennic, get us something to drink, will you?”

Jyn has just enough time to catch him rolling his eyes before he leaves them alone. As she glances back, Anya is grinning at her. “Always with the attitude, that guy. Now,” she leans forward, intense. “I need you to know something first off. Don’t -- do not -- don’t believe anything you read in the official records.”

Jyn goes very still, watchful.

“Your mother wasn’t some airy fairy dreamy nature lover. Don’t you believe that, Jyn Erso. She was a warrior,” Anya spits, all fierce blue eyes. “She was one of the bravest, most passionate women I ever knew. And the stupid record only has her down as mapper of caves and your father’s wife. Tch!” A sharp violent gesture and Anya slams herself back into the seat. “It’s always the way, isn’t it? Never mind all the rallies and demonstrations, the fights --”

“For what?” Jyn asks quietly.

“What did she fight for? For people. For planets. For tribes that could be wiped out by industry, for families struggling to survive. Your mother was a hero, Jyn Erso.”

“Oh.”

Anya stares at her. “You don’t believe me?”

“It’s … unexpected,” Jyn admits carefully, glancing to where Krennic enters the periphery of her vision.

“She doesn’t believe me,” Anya informs him. “You tell her.”

Krennic sets the tray down, his energy like a coiled dangerous thing. “About what exactly?”

“How Lyra was,” Anya insists. “You were at some of those demonstrations. Tell Jyn what Lyra did.”

“Here.” Krennic hands Jyn the pretty flute of cloudy pink liquid, his gaze catching hers. Still tense.

“Was my mother some sort of eco-warrior?” Jyn asks as he pulls up a chair. “I believe you,” she adds as Anya starts to interrupt, “I do, I just --”

“No, no. You wanted to know and I’m telling you. And then you can go and look up all the incident reports and things --”

“I thought you said none of her activism was in the official record.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Jyn sees Krennic smile into his drink. 

“Of course not.” Anya grins suddenly. “Not under her real name.”

For the next half hour, Jyn listens to a blur of a story, an alternative history of this mother she’s only just discovered. She wishes they’d thought to bring a datapad to take notes, but Krennic is listening as carefully as she is. Anya tells them mostly of a time before Lyra met Galen, how she met Lyra on her own home planet of Bakura.

“She wanted to explore the mountains of Prytis on her own, she said. And she went over almost the whole range, you know. I thought she was a complete idiot when we first met. How she hadn’t broken something or fallen down some ravine --” Anya shakes her head, grinning. “Of course, I had completely underestimated her. She knew exactly what she was doing. We had such fun together, we camped and we talked and we climbed. We saw so much beauty. She really --” her voice catches with emotion “-- she really understood how precious and beautiful Bakura was. Is.”

They drink in silence for a few moments, Jyn aware of Krennic’s knee against hers under the table. 

“When the Separatists took us,” Anya continues with a certain grim effort, “I lost all contact with her. It was years, years before she got through to me. And then she said to come to Lah’mu, that I could stay with them. With you.” A brief smile that Jyn responds to. 

“It would have been very cramped,” she offers, making Anya laugh.

“That’s exactly what I said. No …” She touches the stem of the flute. “That was the last time we spoke.” A pause heavy with memory, and Anya raises her blue eyes to Jyn. “I miss her so much. There was no one like her.”

As Jyn smiles, touched despite her ambivalence, Anya reaches across and clasps her hand. “She made me a better person. She was like that, you know. Wasn’t she, Krennic?”

He says nothing, his eyes hooded. Anya frowns at him for a second but then catches sight of her chrono and exclaims, “Kriff, I better head off. That idiot -- I’m so sorry, Jyn! It was so lovely to see you --” 

After the flurry of awkward hugs and promises to catch up again soon, promises of more stories, Jyn sits back down at the table, her hand coming to the small swell of her belly.

“What’s wrong?” Krennic doesn’t touch her but there’s a certain concern back in his tone.

She shakes her head, too emotional to articulate. “I don’t know. I can’t -- can we go back to the ship, please?” She lifts her head, pleading now. “Back to --”

All his coldness has melted to worry. He puts his hand on her arm. “Soon. We’ll be home soon.”

The word hangs between them, weird and glimmery, too poignant for someone as brutal as her, too tame for someone as nomadic as him. Jyn thinks all of this rapidly, dropping her gaze from his. “Come on,” Krennic murmurs, “there’s somewhere I want to take you.”

___________

 

Somewhere is back in the shopping district, all the glittering storefronts with their expensive displays. “What do you think?” Krennic says, cupping her elbow.

“Of what? I don’t have any credits on me.”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “ ‘s all right, I’ve got enough. And you need clothes, especially now that -- no,” he decides abruptly, distaste screwing up his handsome face. “These aren’t right. I know where. Come on.” 

Amused, Jyn lets him lead her down a few side streets to where the shops are less high fashion and more quirky and functional. “Here,” she says, pulling them to a stop outside a display she likes. “This will do.”

He doesn’t protest, either then or inside. The Bivall shop assistant comes over, tall and just finicky enough as she advises Jyn on what clothes she’ll need over the next few months and beyond. Krennic wanders around for a while, examining the fabrics and stitching of a few garments, and then goes outside to smoke.

“Thank you,” Jyn says with some awkwardness when he comes in to pay. “I’ll reimburse you as soon as --”

He gives her a speaking look and she falters for a moment before, “No, hold on. I’m a grown woman, I’ll pay for my own damned clothes, baby or no baby.” 

The Bivall shop assistant tuts under her breath and Jyn shoots her a glare, incensed. Beside her, Krennic chokes back a laugh, taking up the packages. “It is not funny,” Jyn mutters as they leave the shop.

“Of course not. You’re a grown woman, apparently.” His eyes sparkle when he grins at her, the weird Coruscant light gilding his hair and bringing out the many beautiful patterns of his freckles. Jyn bares her teeth at him, secretly delighted.

As they return to the main street, she tucks the crystal back under the draped neckline of her top, aware that he notices. “Here, give me some.” Jyn takes a few of the wrapped purchases from him, satisfied that he’s finally stopped treating her like something breakable. It’s the first time she’s worn the crystal but she’s not about to tell him that.

Krennic takes in a breath and says in a rush, “There’s somewhere else you might like to see. While we’re here, I mean. You don’t have to, I know you said --” he clearly hears himself babbling because he stops with a grimace and then continues, steady voice and steady blue eyes. “I can take you to where she’s buried. If you want?”

Jyn absolutely does not want. But they are here, she may as well. 

“You don’t have to,” Krennic murmurs, all his attention on her. He’s standing so close to her, the packages between them, and for a moment she wants to touch his hand. Her head bent, she knows the image they make -- a tall man with unruly silver hair looking down at a small dark haired woman, both of them dressed like any working couple, unimportant specks in the great noisy galaxy.

“No,” she says shakily. “Show me.”

Lyra Erso’s tomb is in a small cemetery on the edge of the Galactic City. Long white stone, unadorned, a little dusty and corroded by the pollution, the name and dates darkened with age. It is at once the most beautiful and the most ghastly thing Jyn has ever seen. She stumbles back instinctively and Krennic catches her, a few packages tumbling to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he says thickly against her hair, one hand gripping her upper arm. Jyn breathes in and counts, willing herself to calm down. Her gaze skitters away from the white stone to the next plot. That slab is dark and old, some general, not a name she recognises.

They sit at the foot of her mother’s tomb, the packages strewn around them. Sunset on Coruscant, and the colours are vivid reds and pinks and oranges across the dirty skyline. Jyn breathes in, not looking at the man beside her. “Are you going to tell me now?”

He takes a long painful breath in. “Yes.”

Then she turns her head, remorseless because she will watch him tell her what she half knows already. 

“I brought you all here after Vallt. But the Empire -- the Director,” he says evenly, “already had their sights on Galen. So I took them -- you all -- from one place to another, trying to find some refuge, somewhere safe. Six months here, a year or more there. The Empire forever at their heels.” Krennic rubs his hand over his face, a certain hardness in his expression. “Lyra hated it but my god, she got good at packing you all up fast. They both did. And finally we found …” He trails off, the memories dark in his eyes. Nodding sadly to himself, he says, “We found Lah’mu. Galen hated the mud, said they were always filthy, they could never get clean. But it worked. For a while, it worked.”

Jyn watches as he looks ahead to the purpling skies. And she waits.

“I stayed away. For years, I left them alone, hoped that every trail had gone cold. There were other pilots, other people who helped them, took them supplies and anything they couldn’t get there. I thought, I thought maybe everything would be fine.”

His eyes are so very clear and painfully sincere. “It wasn’t. Was it?”

“You think it was your fault.”

“It was,” he says simply. “I had a copilot at the time, a boy from Naboo. They got to him, threatened his family. They gave him no choice.”

“How do you know this?”

Krennic glances down now at his own hands, broad and blunt and flexing, healed already. “He told me.”

Jyn watches him for a few long seconds and then says it.

“Did you kill him?”

“Yes.”

In the raw silence between them, he lifts his hand to his face and traces the corner of his mouth with the edge of his thumb. And Jyn says with the same cold clarity of the interrogation room, “So much for your pacifist ideals.”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t snarl back at her or react in any way. Merely drops his hands and stares at the ground. There is no justification offered even though she hears every single one in her head. 

“What happened exactly? Do you know?”

He’s startled by that. “Don’t you remember?”

Undisturbed, Jyn replies, “I want to hear it from you.”

He knows what she’s doing, a certain hardening of his expression as they regard each other in the changing colours. The evening breeze blows wisps of her hair against her face, stirs the dark silver curls against the collar of his open shirt. 

“I got there too late. Too late for Lyra, too --” his voice stumbles, pain flickering all the lines of his face. “We couldn’t find you. I thought they had taken you and Galen. The bolthole was empty, it was like you were never there --”

Jyn remembers the darkness opening up above her, remembers the beautiful face and the sleek auburn hair. The lovely voice inviting her out.

“It took me years to find Galen. And then months to find a way to get him out, off Eadu.” His mouth curls, a grim satisfaction turning his eyes cold.

“How did you?”

“A pilot. He got in touch with the Rebellion, brought a message and risked his life. Little twitchy fellow who had all his thinking rewired by Galen’s idealism. He was devoted to him, ready to follow him anywhere even if that meant defecting from the Empire. And he did,” Krennic says thoughtfully. “Threw off all those years of propaganda, all the dehumanisation.”

Jyn swallows the question burning in her throat. Instead, “What happened to him?”

That cool clever gaze, the slim mouth quirking. “Last I heard, they were complaining about lice.” 

She laughs, startling herself. Registering the peculiar sense of hope stirring in her chest, the sense of a father out there in the galaxy, waiting for her to find him. 

Now she puts her hand somewhat tentatively on Krennic’s, watching as he turns his palm up and their fingers link. “What was she like?” she asks quietly.

He breathes for a few moments, his touch warm and so there, so very much a miracle that she can touch and look at him.

“Maddening.” A short brutal laugh. “God, she was so meddling. She had to get involved in every damned problem. Every world I took them to, she’d find some issue with the labour force or some minority species done hard by, and she couldn’t just let things sort themselves out. And it always, always got messy.” The exasperation rolls off him, flashes from the blue grey eyes. 

Bemused, Jyn says nothing and listens.

“She drove me nuts. We argued all the fucking time. I said why the fuck couldn’t she think of your safety, of you and Galen, and keep a low profile?” He grins at Jyn, suddenly outrageous. “She said I had a hell of a nerve saying that to her.”

She bursts out laughing. “I was just thinking that!” As she laughs on, so very caught by the wonderful coincidence and all that it means, his smile deepens as he watches her. And impulsively she pulls his hand to her belly, not quite meeting his eyes, not ready for that. Krennic catches his breath, instinctively moving closer. His face so close to hers, she looks at the weave of the grey tank top, too emotional at the sensation of his hand spreading across the shape of their child. Wondering when they’ll feel movement, a sign of startling life.

“Have you thought about names?” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing against the fabric of her dark top.

“No.” Eyes wide, she glances at his mouth. “Have you?”

“Mmm. Maybe.”

Jyn leans back a little so she can glare at him. “Look, you’ve got to stop being so damned cryptic. It’s very annoying.”

He laughs, delighted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, so just tell me. What names?”

He bites his lip, the smile lingering secret in the contours of his face, curving the long slim mouth. He strokes the back of his hand against her belly and says, “Well, I was thinking … if you didn’t mind …”

“Your mother,” she guesses, impatient. As his eyes sparkle amusement at her, a warmth curling in her chest, Jyn puts her hand over his. “What was her name?”

“Arden.”

“The great reader,” she remembers from the interrogation room, looking at him now with a sense of just how far they’ve come and how much further they’ll go.

“That’s right,” he says quietly, his expression flickering with maybe the same thought. 

“My father read a lot, too.” The memory comes stealing back into her mind like some soft breeze. “I remember so many holopads in that place on Lah’mu, even a few actual books.”

Krennic nods. “They both did. Lyra sent me halfway across the fucken galaxy once for a Life Day present for Galen. Had to be that actual book, she wouldn’t be satisfied with a non-flimsy.” He shakes his head as Jyn grins broadly at him, her body swaying towards his. “God, I don’t know how he put up with us.”

“What do you mean?” She feels the fondness in the way she looks at him, hear it in her voice. This shared history that connects them with warmth, that he’s finally, finally letting her see and hear, and she can’t even bring herself to resent all the lies he’s told to fend her off until now.

“Oh fuck, the arguments. Lyra and I yelling at each other, and Galen would just shake his head and play with you. He never could -- she knew I was jealous of her.” Krennic nods, his candour shocking. “And I was. I fucking was. He was my friend before he was her husband. And he was never going to make a choice between us.”

In the thoughtful silence, Jyn looks at the hazy shifting cityline, thinking about her parents and this man who’s so much more in their lives than she ever realised.

“We should get back to the ship,” Krennic says quietly.

____________

 

Reed and Nee-For are waiting for them, somewhat aggrieved. As they make the jump to hyperspace, Jyn steadies herself against the round table in the crew lounge, catching the datapad before it falls. There are so many notes to make, the names Anya gave them, all that Krennic’s told her.

It’s night time when they get back to Wayland, long past the evening meal. Girr checks as they come past that they’ve eaten, and waves them on with a smile. In the golden glow of the small house, Jyn counts out the proper amount of credits and leaves them on the kitchen counter while Krennic chats with Reed at the front door. She’s putting away her new clothes, listening to the cacophony of the jungle when he comes into the bedroom, shrugging off his shirt, his voice reflective. “So the planet does still exist --”

“Oh? Oh good.” She closes the lid of the wicker basket, trying not to stare at the gleam of his shoulders as he goes past her.

“-- but she can’t see us for a while. She’s on an expedition. Sorry,” he adds. His mouth is all pretty and rueful as he gazes at her.

“That’s all right,” Jyn says softly, giving in and moving closer to touch him. “When’s good for her?”

His eyes drop to where her hand comes to lie flat against his abdomen, pale against the grey tank top. “A few months.” His voice has gone husky, his lashes so fine and pale brown as he gives her that sly carnal look. 

“That’s all right, then,” Jyn murmurs and slides her hand slowly up, dragging the fabric warm from his flesh. A sound in his throat, he tries to kiss her mouth but she evades him with her own slyness, more interested in exploring all the erotic potential of this ridiculous grey tank top that’s been maddening her for a while now.

His hands light on her hips, Krennic lets her bare his chest up to his nipples, pale pink and ridiculously erect. He’s so very smooth and not toned but hard enough for a smuggler, hairless everywhere except for the patches of soft pale brown hair under his arms and down where she wants to uncover him in a little while.

“We’re not going to be able to do this for much longer,” he says, soft and rough and regretful.

“No?” She dances her fingertips from nipple to nipple, hearing the soft strain of his breath, watching his skin blush with heat. “Why?” 

“Because --” he breaks off with a groan, clutches higher on her waist when she runs her ragged nails down the centre of his chest and back up again. “You know why. Oh fuck.”

“You swear too much,” she says softly and pushes him with a firm gentle hand. He falls back on the bed, bright pretty eyes and crooked mouth, the tank all rucked up on his chest, legs sprawling in the dark trousers, bare feet catching the covers. 

“Come here,” he commands. His hair is all messy and silver, long curling strands falling across his brow. 

“No,” she replies but climbs onto the bed, crawling up him with sinuous back and frank sultry intent. Very much relishing this control. He watches her come with hungry blue eyes, his hand reaching for her face. She lets herself nuzzle his palm, lets herself have this, have him. Her fingers learning the patterns of freckles on his chest, her tongue connecting them in long wet licks, as his flesh trembles with his rapid breath, as he undoes her hair and strokes it out along her shoulders, sifting the long softness of it through his fingers. She crumples a fistful of grey fabric in her hand as she preys on him with her mouth. Her teeth seizing one pink erect nipple, feeling him dig his fingers into her shoulder, a snarled breath between his lips. “Fuck,” he says as she learns the taste of his nipples, as she licks down into the warm damp hair under his arm. He smells all male and slightly rank, that edge of rawness she likes.

“Come here,” he mutters, pulling at the hem of her top. Hiding her smile, Jyn lets him take it off, loving the happy murmur he does when he unwraps her breasts and smooths his palm over the swell of their child. “God, you’re lovely,” he says thickly and tries to kiss her again. But no, not yet. She laughs at his indignation, and then laughs inside when she bites him along the strap of the tank, along the sculpted curve of his shoulder, and he forgets himself in a long hard groan. 

“You’re gunna bite me all over?” he asks her, so close they’re sharing breath. That Mid Rim accent is slurring now.

“Can I?” She’s mouthing along his long lovely collarbones, his eyes so clear and deep when she’s this close. 

He shuts them with a sigh, his lips all red and open. “Yes, fuck, yes. Do what you want to me.”

“Oh, that’s a dangerous thing to say,” she tells him and spends the next half hour crawling all over his body stripped of everything but the grey tank pushed up, using her mouth on every inch of his skin where it’s clear and where it’s freckled, where it’s red and hot in her mouth. She bites down along the contour of his bicep, feels him gasp as she scrapes her teeth along his firm muscled arm, tastes all his freckles there, drags her nails down the inner sensitive skin of his wrist. “Fuck,” he moans, his hips pushing up. She licks along the inside creases of his thighs, buries her nose in the warm soft hair at the base of his hard cock. The smell of him is all over her, marking her like she’s marked him with the press of her lips and the sharpness of her teeth, and she knows he’s loving it as much as she is, lost in the same daze of pure aching sensation.

When she’s naked, he reaches for her and she lowers herself onto his beautiful face, gasps when he tastes her cunt, his tongue so wet and filthy good. His hands hooked over her thighs, all she sees is the sharp perfect angle of his jaw, of his chin tipped up, and she rides that clever fucking face, rides his clever intruding tongue, until she’s coming all over his lashes and cheekbones, until he’s gasping and pressing up into her. When she catches herself with arms braced on his chest, she looks down his body, and his cock is hard and red, a beautiful angry curve up to his abdomen, leaking clear at the tip. A moan in her throat, Jyn pulls herself forward and he follows her in an arch up, still holding on, still eating into her. She swallows his cock with one hand on his balls, and he cries out against the inside of her thigh. It’s vile and beautiful and so very, very decadent, sucking him off as he eats her out, the smell of them filling the hot jungle night air. There’s no rhythm to it, he keeps losing concentration because of her, tries to fuck her mouth with his cock. It’s messy and glorious as she gags on him and pulls off, goes back a second later with fierce hunger, sucks him low and deep, feeding on his flesh like he is all hers to have.

“Are you going to come?” she asks at one point, glancing down between their bodies.

“Yes, fuck, yes. Soon --” And then groans long and loud because she’s slipped away and off him. 

“Now,” she turns to tell him, her hair slipping over her bare shoulder. Aware of his eyes all over her naked subtly pregnant body. “You get to fuck me now.”

And he swarms her, all intense eyes and rumpled silver curls, pushing her forward onto her knees in the untidy bed. Jyn laughs silently, spreading her thighs for him at her back, gasping as he rubs his cockhead along her most private flesh exposed to him, from the slickness of her cunt up to the tiny hot hole of her bottom and back down. Her turn to shake and swear aloud, urge him on.

He fucks her with fingers first, as if she isn’t already dripping with her own come, moaning and writhing, pushing down on his bold callused fingers. There’s sweat damp on her back, between her tender breasts, and she grabs at his wrist, pulling with breathless demand. Then he fucks her with his cock, hot and hard, so relentless she buries her face against the firm mattress, clutching handfuls of the sheets, loving the way he uses her. It seems to go on forever, the filthy sounds of their flesh smacking together, the shocking sounds from his throat and hers, over and over and over again until she’s seizing and coming on his cock, crying out against the sheets, and he’s shuddering and coming into her, hot and wet.

“We’re not going to stop doing that,” she whispers a while later as they’re curled up together. Her palm is against the left of his chest, feeling the roar of his heartbeat slowing down like hers. Krennic smiles, a long dreamy curve and glimmer of blue that has her kissing him with sheer appreciation.

“We’ll see,” he mumbles when she nestles against him. He’s quite naked now, the grey tank cast to the floor with the other clothes. And she wants to learn his skin all over again, like a kind of addiction, rediscovering this intimacy. One arm bent under his head, Krennic looks at her body through those sleepy lashes, and this time she doesn’t need to bring his hand to her belly. He touches her of his own accord, the same gentle touch from the same man who had not a few minutes ago fucked her hard. She smiles at him, at the complex dichotomy of this man she’s claimed for now. 

“Do you regret it?” He lifts clear blue eyes to her, disarming honesty once more and asking it of her too now.

“What? This? Us?”

The word flickers between them, and she sees the moment he brushes it carefully aside. “That day in the interrogation room. What we did.”

She takes a moment to answer, the words shaping in her throat. Honesty, right? Because he asks it of her, because maybe he of all people has earned it, never mind her manipulation of each situation to her own advantage. She can give him this for nothing in return. Maybe.

“Of course not.” 

He watches her with that same sharp intelligence as all the way back then, silver hair swerved across his temple and tufting out around his ear. 

“I wanted you,” Jyn says without fear. “I’m not going to regret having you when I could.” Now her composure shakes, her gaze slipping from his eyes to that touchable silver tuft. “When I can.”

His reaction is quite unreadable, something behind the beautiful eyes. But she decides she’s not threatened by it, by him not sharing. So she cuddles closer, putting the tip of her finger against the centre of his upper lip where it juts out. And his hand strokes across her belly, slips around to her back as he holds her. 

“Tkir wants us to spend time with them. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she says equably. “Who’s Tkir?”

____________

 

She should have remembered but Krennic doesn’t hold it against her. The next day after the morning meal, they go across to the house on the other side of the clearing. And while Reed and Krennic go to help with the harvest, Jyn discovers just how much capacity she has to deal with two very active Myneyrshi toddlers under the supervision of Reed’s husband.

It’s a long exhausting day. But she manages to make somewhat of a start with Tkir who is unfailingly polite but clearly regards her with some of the same distrust as Reed. So she talks a lot about herself and the situation and how she and Krennic are managing together, how they’ve talked about names. And she asks all the right interested questions about how Tkir and Reed met and fell in love, what it was like having the kids, how stressful it must be when Reed’s away.

The house is cheerful, airy and spacious in a way that her home with Krennic isn’t quite. And Tkir tells her that Reed’s been flying with Krennic for several years now, much longer than their marriage. 

“Do you know how they met? Oh my god!” She resists the urge to thwack the child that just grabbed her breast, instead smiles painfully as Tkir laughs and apologises, pulling the brat away. 

“Bad girl, Sama,” scolds Tkir. “I told you not to do that.”

Sama is entirely irrepressible, grinning toothily at Jyn from her father’s lap. Jyn stares back with some misgiving, trying not to listen to the little boy in the corner banging some toy with profound and sustained violence against a cupboard. Apparently quite deaf, Tkir smiles at her. “Oh you don’t know how they met?”

There’s a steel door behind that smile, all their secrets protected, especially Krennic’s.

“No, not yet,” she admits, tensing as Sama clambers down and waddles towards her. “But I’m sure he’ll -- ooh, okay.” Sama wants to be picked up. “Don’t grab, all right?” Jyn tells her before settling the child on her lap. 

Tkir’s smile turns thoughtful as he looks at them, and then he bellows very loud: “Radi, enough!”

Jyn nearly falls off her chair. Certainly Radi is so startled he stops. For all of five minutes.

When Reed and Krennic return that evening, dusty and sweaty from the fields, she has no more information about Krennic than at the start of the day, and still none of the crucial details about Reed. But she and Tkir take the opportunity to gently tease them about getting out of child-minding duties. Reed laughs but Krennic looks just a little guilty. And she grins at him, remembering the very first time he told her of the village.

At the evening meal, Girr tells her Doula wants to see her after. As Akrsh and Mazr babble at her from beyond the privacy screen, Jyn lets Doula touch her belly with soft hands. “Don’t worry,” Girr translates. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” But the fear is stampeding through her chest again. Doula clearly senses it because she stops and put her hands firmly on Jyn’s wrists, the white eyes intent.

“Now, listen. I know you’re scared so here is what we’re going to do. We’re going to talk about this, every single bit of it. Girr will -- I will,” Girr corrects with a laugh, “I’m going to tell you everything that happened during both of her labours -- I am?” Girr breaks off, startled. “Are you sure?”

“Oh god, why?” Jyn’s heart is triple hammering. “What happened? Was it horrible -- of course it was, you said it was the worst thing --”

“Now, now!” Doula raises a warning finger. “Stop talking, Jyn. You listen, and you listen to everything. We’re going to tell you everything that happens, and then we’re going to plan exactly what we’re going to do for when your time comes.”

It’s an exercise of control, she realises that. Not just arming the rookie with foreknowledge but also trying to engineer every facet of a dangerous unpredictable situation, prepare for every contingency. 

When she returns to the little house, Krennic glances up from his datapad, quizzical.

“What do you think about a water birth?” she announces without preamble. 

His brows shoot up. “Is that what Doula suggests?”

“Yeah.” Jyn eases off her shoes, groaning a little at the soreness of her breasts. “She reckons it will be perfect for me, and we have that --” She gestures to the side of the house.

“The rockpool, yeah.” Krennic straightens up, excited now. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. It’s fixed up now. Doula says that’ll be safe enough, hygienic enough?” he asks with some anxiety, putting his arm out as she comes to his chair. 

“Mm hmm. What are you looking up?” She’s not sitting on his knee, she’s merely taking the opportunity for physical contact. Even if that means he pulls her back against his chest as she takes up the datapad, squinting at the display.

“The aliases Anya gave us. Look.”

“Lianna Hallik,” Jyn reads aloud. “I like that, it’s pretty.”

“Mmm.” He is absolutely not nuzzling her hair or tucking it back so he can press his lips to the skin below her ear. 

“You don’t remember her using this one?” She glances at him over her shoulder, curious. He’s wearing a plain blue t-shirt today, the blue so cerulean it makes his eyes particularly clear.

“Nope. The one I remember --” he takes the datapad from her, entering the name while she tries to resist -- and fails -- the urge to reach up and stroke her fingertips into the silver swerves of his hair at his temple “-- is this one.” He gives her back the datapad and puts both his arms around her, one palm fitting easily to her belly over the loose top. His chin on her shoulder, Krennic watches her scroll through the display. 

“Kes Dawn,” Jyn murmurs. “Resisting arrest. Assault of an Imperial Officer. Malicious damage to Senate property. This was at a rally, a demonstration?”

“Mm-hmm. Miners strike. We had to bail her out, Galen and I. It’s not funny,” Krennic informs her, his mouth curling at the corners.

Jyn stifles her giggles. “I’m sorry. It’s just -- she sounds so wonderful, and I’m so glad she made both your lives hell.”

Krennic rolls his eyes. “Yes, you would feel that way, wouldn’t you?” 

Curious, Jyn leans back against his shoulder. “How did you meet them? You never said.”

He sighs, the fine long brows quirking. “I met Lyra when she and Galen got together. I met Galen on Brentaal. We were in the Futures Program. You know about that?”

She nods, lifting her face for his fingers coming to the point of her chin. He traces her mouth and tells her, “I wasn’t there very long. It was --” he shakes his head, silver glinting. “I didn’t like what they were grooming us for.”

“Indoctrination,” she suggests slyly and he pretends to bite her.

As she laughs, Krennic continues, “Galen wanted to stay and make a difference, I wanted to get out.”

“And make a difference,” Jyn completes, quite cheeky. He gives her a wry smile, and she kisses him on an impulse, shocked at her own daring, shocked that they can be this effortless and sweet together. They kiss and touch for a while in the warmth of the chair, the datapad slipped forgotten to the floor. And eventually, Jyn puts her hand to the side of his face, looks into his curious eyes. “Tell me about your mother?”

He gives her that particularly sweet smile, all crinkling eyes and curving mouth. “You ask so many questions, do you know that?”

“Like you didn’t realise that when we first met.” And her heart leaps when he laughs uproariously, glad that they can tease each other about such fraught bizarre beginnings now.

“I want to know,” she murmurs, plucking at the fabric of his t-shirt. “Especially if you want to name,” she falters a little then says it anyway, not looking at him, “our child after her.”

Something goes through him, a kind of odd stillness. Jyn turns her face into his shoulder, painfully aware of how attuned she is to him now. Is this what they call that thing? This heightened sensitivity to every shift of mood, feeling what he feels like it’s her own emotion. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s everything she never knew she wanted. She hates it all, she can’t resist a bit of it. As she squeezes her eyes shut, willing her brain to quiet, Krennic strokes the back of his hand against her loose hair and starts to tell her softly. 

They go to bed, make love in the dark. She doesn’t describe it like that to herself but maybe she knows. And they talk in the glimmering shadows. Night after night as the moon moves across the floor towards their bed.

___________

 

Jyn spends the next few months at Wayland, her days alternating between Tkir and the kids, and training the girls. Sometimes she travels with Krennic and his crew to get supplies, to check in with the Rebellion who still haven’t made a decision about her. She sees him bargain and talk his way out of his situations, sees him manipulate spaceport officials and shipyard mechanics. He has a powerful sly charm that’s as outrageous as it is effective. And yet with her, all that melts away and he’s often unutterably gentle and joyful, that gleam of intelligence tempered with affection. He likes her, she begins to realise that. It’s something wonderful and warming, an impossible beautiful thing.

Her belly grows larger, the skin stretching taut, the change in balance changing her walk. The clothes get looser, and eventually she can’t manage the trousers anymore, resorts to long loose dresses that stretch over her breasts and full round belly. She dreams a lot about her mother who sits shimmering blue at the end of the bed and watches her with a small smile. 

In the seventh month, Doula Tkara loses her temper and absolutely forbids Jyn from any more space travel. Jyn doesn’t mind this so much. Because Krennic, without saying anything, stops flying too. The Tangara stays under cover beyond the trees, maintained by a slightly querulous Nee-For. Jyn has eventually worked out the droid’s particular communication, and now they exchange dry little comments about Krennic’s hair and clothes, always just within his earshot so he turns and glares at them. “I can hear you!”

The harvest is completed, and now Krennic helps with village repairs, frequently by Reed’s side. Jyn’s relationship with the copilot doesn’t improve a whole lot but one night she does get to hear how they met. They’re out the back of his home, sitting in long low chairs under the skies filled with stars, the males drinking some swill Reed brought back once. Krennic’s sitting on the ground by Jyn’s chair, leaning back into her fingers sifting through his hair, the moonlight gleaming off his pale bold profile. Reed has just gone in to check on the toddlers, and now Tkir glances across at them, his long handsome face relaxed as he drinks.

“Has he told you yet, Jyn?”

A spasm of fear seizes her heart, clenches her fingers in fine silver hair. “What?” she asks, striving for casual.

Tkir nods, no malice in his smile. “How these two idiots found each other. Krennic, you tell her yet?”

Krennic tips his head back, the curve of his chin so weirdly elegant. “Oh, did you want to know?” he asks her, perfectly amiable. 

She strokes his face, wanting to bend down and kiss him but shy in front of the others. “You know I always want to know.”

In the dimness, they grin at each other, a small moment of private language. 

“We met in a bar,” he tells her. “Both very drunk, very stupid. And there was a brawl, I don’t know who started it --”

“Liar,” Reed says, ducking out of the back door. “You were the one who started it.”

Krennic opens his mouth to protest but the others are laughing too loud and so he shrugs and admits to Jyn, “There may be some truth to that.”

“So when was this?” She glances from him to Reed, aware that the hostility has eased. 

Reed takes up his drink, rolling his eyes with perfect sarcasm. “Ages ago. I had just --” he gives her a slightly sharp look and then clearly decides to say it anyway. “I had just gotten out of that filth hole --” Tkir puts his hand on Reed’s arm, a silent solace that Jyn notices with interest “-- and I needed work, credits for the passage home. And this guy --” he gestures to Krennic with his drink. Jyn doesn’t need to look down to know Krennic’s grinning back.

“Zygerrian,” Reed says abruptly to her and she nods. “I understand.” And they paint the picture for her -- the crowded bar, so many different species of space riff-raff. Krennic and Reed drinking separately, and then finding themselves back to back in the brawl, fighting for the sheer anarchic delight of it. “And then it turns out this guy,” Reed says it with such sardonic affection, “needs a copilot for his junkpile of a ship --”

“Hey! You love her just as much, don’t pull that!”

“Well,” Reed admits. “She may have grown on me. Eventually.”

Krennic makes this huff of amusement, his eyes gleaming up at Jyn. Later in bed, he tells her what he knows of Reed’s time in the remnants of the Zygerrian slave empire, how he was captured in a Psadan raid and sold to the Zygerrians. How they took his Myneyrshi name and called him Reed instead, taught him to work with weaponry and technology he would never have encountered on Wayland.

“I told him we could find out his birth name, that he didn’t have to keep flying. He told me to fuck off and mind my own business.” Krennic laughs quietly. “That he could make his own decisions about his own life and didn’t need me guiding him like some goddamned saviour when he knows I’m even more useless than he is. Anyway, the truth is he likes the tech and he knows he’s good at it. That’s his choice.”

Jyn frowns, struck by a thought. “Is that -- the people who live here? Is that --”

“No.” Krennic’s mouth tightens. “No, last we heard they’ve been sent to the Kessel mines.”

The moonlight is on their bed now, all silver on his skin and hair, in the blue of his eyes. “Are you going to do something about it?” She keeps her voice neutral.

That cold hardness to the shapes of his face, he says, “I don’t know. We were waiting for the right time, but then --” He smiles slowly at her. 

“I’ve interrupted your plans to save the galaxy,” she teases, and he laughs. 

“Hardly that.”

___________

 

The Psadan raid comes one afternoon when Jyn is supervising Akrsh and Mazr’s training. The big lumpy creatures burst out of the jungle, swarming the village, and Jyn watches with some surprise as the Myneyrshi whip into action. Spears and knives and arrows, they’re all sleek muscular fighting machines, the females right along with the males. When Girr pulls her into the safety of the house, Jyn watches from beside the window, aware that her usual instinct to fight has altered swiftly into the need to hide and protect her child. 

Akrsh and Mazr are right outside the house so she sees them use all the techniques she’s shown them, augmenting their own skills. Krennic turns up in a matter of minutes, blasters firing, fast and ruthless. In all the screams and yells, she notices he is perfectly silent, a grim efficient fighter who gets his back to the front door and fends the Psadan off.

It’s a short bloody raid, a few Myneyrshi slain, more wounded but nobody captured and the Psadan sent packing through the jungle back to their own territory. When the women stumble out of the house, Krennic drops the blasters and puts his arms around her, face buried in her hair. They don’t say anything but she doesn’t move from his side for the next day or so, through the tending to the wounded and at the funeral rites. That night, his hands on her are a little too desperate, his mouth needy, but then she realises she’s the same, scared and inarticulate.

In the seventh month, the baby kicks for the first time. Jyn is so startled by the sensation she halts right in the middle of the path, and Krennic turns to her, mid-sentence, “-- so then he said -- what? What’s the matter?” His voice turns harsh with worry.

She gropes for his hand, her eyes wide as she looks up at him, and she sees the moment he feels it too. “Fuck,” he breathes, moving closer to her. For a while, it’s just the two of them in the whole glorious galaxy, bound in wonder and some terror. Now it’s real, the sign of a little person moving inside her. Their little person. Jyn hides her face against Krennic’s shoulder, overcome with too much emotion, wondering how the fuck she could ever be responsible for the daily care of a small human.

She tells him this later as they’re getting ready for bed, and he laughs shortly, says he’s been wondering the same thing. But they have help, they have a network of support, and she knows despite everything, she’ll have him.

If everything stays the same.

The Rebellion command makes its decision in the eighth month of her pregnancy, conveyed through a transmission via Nee-For. Jyn Erso is to remain under the personal supervision of Orson Krennic, forbidden from contacting any Imperial personnel or travel into Imperial space unless accompanied by at least two Alliance representatives. “That’s fine,” Krennic mutters, “that’s me and Reed.” All her holonet activity is to be monitored, she is not allowed any weapons.

“Until when?” Krennic snaps. “She has to be allowed to defend herself!”

Controlling her smile, Jyn watches as the man in the holo image looks even more pinched. “These are the orders --”

“They’re fucking asinine orders. I want to talk to Daala. Right now.”

“Natasi Daala is otherwise occupied at the --”

“Yeah, I bet,” Krennic says sourly. “What else? Is that it, Piett?”

The officer gives him a look of barely concealed dislike. “You are to continue to report weekly on her activities --”

Despite herself, Jyn darts a glance at Krennic, shocked even though she should know better. His expression flickering, he says nothing. 

“-- and we note we have only ever received two reports from you, Krennic.”

“Really? How unfortunate,” he drawls. “This damned holonet, you can’t trust technology at all these days.” 

With no vestige of Imperial control, Jyn bites the inside of her cheek, struggling not to laugh. The officer chooses to ignore this and says with some reluctance, “Are there any questions?”

Jyn puts her hand on Krennic’s arm, pitching her tone just right. “Are these orders to continue indefinitely?”

“They will remain effective until the child is of one year of age. The council will then review your situation and how you may be of use to the Alliance. In the interim, you are to make yourself available to all communications and requests from Rebellion command.”

“I understand. Thank you very much. And please, will you convey my thanks specifically to Natasi Daala?”

When the transmission ends and Nee-For brrps at them, Krennic rubs his hand over his face. “I don’t like this weapons thing at all. Not with the Psadan.”

“Are you really going to trust me with a blaster?” Her tone is very dry, and he chuckles a little under his breath.

“On your own, no.” He grins at her, eyes sparkling. “But for my child, yeah, I think I would.”

“Your child,” she huffs. “You hear that, Nee-For? What a patriarch.”

A few days later, she discovers exactly that, a loaded blaster left carelessly on the wicker table in the living area of the house. It’s in decent condition, and she hides it among her clothes, within easy enough reach if their home is attacked. If he happens to leave a few more knives around the place, that’s entirely coincidental and she takes the ones she can easily conceal beneath her dress.

____________

 

Doula Tkara instructs her to keep active and gives her exercises to do, intimate ones as well as less embarrassing ones. As her body changes and grows, Jyn becomes achingly sensitive all over, and Doula gives her creams and oils to rub into her skin. Her breasts are particularly painful, the nipples starting to crack. For a while, she massages them herself in private, appalled at how the pain doesn’t diminish her libido at all. If anything, the sensitivity keeps her on an edge of almost constant frustrated arousal. Eventually, she gives up and calls out to Krennic one evening. “Could you help me please?”

She was right. The sex doesn’t stop. It’s almost mortifying, how constantly she wants him and how he never ever says no. It doesn’t take her long to realise he loves her body all lush like this. He rubs the cream into her nipples and kisses her with his mouth open and wet. He pours the oil over his hands and massages her slow and thorough, the scent of faint flowers and the firmness of his touch making her moan and moan. They’re supposed to be focusing on certain delicate parts of her body to stretch them for the birth, and he pays close attention to that spot behind her cunt, massaging it until she’s so wet inside and wanting him deep in her, until he groans and rolls her gently onto her side, naked and slippery on the rug in the living area. The late evening sunshine is warm on the wicker blinds, there’s the sound of children playing outside, and they’re in their own secret world, she crying out with soft intense relief when he lies down behind her and eases his cock into her. Every sensation intensifies, she feels so full of him and their child, so aware of the tender heaviness of her breasts in his callused hands. He fucks her slow and deep, his mouth catching hers with wetness, her fingernails scraping across the side of his face. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he mutters, and she feels it, knows it with or without him.

When the village is at the evening meal, they steal out to the rockpool, naked and careful in the water, washing the oil off their skin. She floats in his arms, ripe and round and glimmering in the moonlight. Draws his head down to hers and kisses him with unashamed sensuality, as he fondles her wet naked breasts all large and distended. There’s pain always on the edge of so much pleasure, and she embraces that too, cries out into his mouth when his nail rasps across her nipple. Their child rolls within her womb, making her gasp as the surface of her belly ripples in the water and Krennic sees it. That low rough sound in his throat, he moves her back against him, spreads her thighs gently, and she guides his cock into her, so deep it bumps against the secure closed mouth of her womb. They fuck slow and breathless in the evening cool, muffling their moans in the noise of the jungle and the distant voices of the village community.

Later that night in bed, as the silver moon slips across the sheets and catches the gleam of their faces, she asks him something she’s been wondering. “Do you have other children?”

He watches her steadily, brushes a wisp of hair from her face. “No.”

By now, she knows to wait, knows her honed senses aren’t wrong.

Krennic turns onto his back, the lines of his face settling as he looks up at the mottled ceiling. “Once. Once before. Back on Lexrul. We were very young.” He breathes in. “We were very much in love. But I wanted to see the galaxy and her parents didn’t approve. There was no way they’d ever allow her to keep the child.” 

A chill touches Jyn. “What happened?”

He says nothing, then looks across at her, his eyes hollow silver blue.

“How?” she asks quietly.

“The usual way.” His voice is very bleak. “Some backwater abortionist. She was desperate, I had fucked off by then. My mother told me, sent a message. She had died in that backroom, the parents blamed me. Naturally.”

The horror goes through Jyn, how easily she sees that room, the girl, the blood. When she buries her face against his shoulder, Krennic shifts and puts his arm around her, holding her a little too hard. And she understands the same question he always asks of her, the incessant watchfulness, why he doesn’t fly anymore.

“So no,” he says. “Since then, I’ve been very careful.”

Jyn raises her face to his, irrepressible. “Until me.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Until you.” He touches the edge of his thumb to her lips, unsmiling and thoughtful as he looks at the shapes of her face. “Until you walked into that room with all your Imperial control and your vicious little mind games --”

She grins, interrupting, “ ** _My_** mind games? What about yours?”

“Well …” he says modestly, so lovely and wry she has to kiss him again. “-- and looked at me like you wanted to eat me,” he finishes eventually.

“I did. I did want to eat you. I wanted to take you back to my quarters and keep you there. For hours. My own personal sex slave.”

He shakes his head, his tone dry. “So depraved, you Imperials.”

“Oh, you would have enjoyed it,” she assures him softly. He murmurs agreement against her mouth, trailing his fingertips along the smooth skin below her collarbone. 

Jyn tips her face back a little. “Did you recognise me? When did you know?”

He thinks for a little while, gazing at her, and then grins wicked. “When you lost your temper with me. Suddenly you were Lyra, completely infuriating, and then you were nothing like her.” He frowns slowly. “You were nothing like either of them but I knew. And fuck,” he closes his eyes, mouth twisting.

“And you wanted me.”

He nods slowly, his gaze finding her face with some trepidation. “And I wanted you.”

“Because I maddened you like my mother did? And because you loved my father, still love him?”

They’re dangerous questions and she knows that she shouldn’t be asking them, shouldn’t be exposing such things to the light when everything is so wonderful and easy between them. But she does anyway, reckless and curious to the end. Aware that she’s testing him in her own way.

Krennic looks at her for a few long silent seconds, all his truth and integrity silver blue and serious. “Galen used to call you Stardust, do you remember that?”

“No.”

“Because of your eyes, the colour of them. He’s wrong. You’re not stardust. You’re a fucking supernova. Because you’re wilder and far more terrifying than Lyra ever was, and you’re cleverer and way more manipulative than Galen could ever manage. If they had raised you, yes, you would be them. But they didn’t, did they? And you’re this completely mercurial unpredictable threat in the middle of my world, and yes, I want you.”

She catches her breath, knows he could be lying but she half believes him anyway, and she snorts, thinking of everything she hasn’t done and hasn’t managed over the past few months, how all her power and all her ambition has funnelled down to this child and keeping them safe. At that point, he kisses her hard, presses her back into the pillows, trying to cover her with his body until her belly gets in the way and they laugh a little. 

In the soft darkness between them, she says shakily, “Do you remember what’s next to her grave?”

He doesn’t reply for a moment and then she feels his breath catch, the flinch that goes through his long naked body. Her fingers digging into his upper arms, she kisses him with all her fear and ferocity, and he responds the same, clinging to her.

On the other side of Lyra’s tomb is a low thriving shrub of green fronds and pale white flowers. And a small white plaque for a little boy who never made it to his first Life Day.

“It’s going to be all right,” Krennic whispers between kissing her. “Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll make it fine.”

“Don’t,” she pleads in this darkness they share. “You can’t make promises like that, you of all people know how things can be.”

How things can go so horribly wrong. She cries a little and he kisses her tears away, his own breathing thick with emotion.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he says, and it’s like a prayer.

____________

 

Towards the end of the eighth month, the baby shifts position and suddenly Jyn finds she has to pee every ten minutes. This means she and Krennic have to get a little more inventive with the sex because her lust still runs high. There’s a lot of laughter and squealing. 

And then the transmission comes in. Nari Sable is back from her expedition and eager to meet with Jyn. Except she’s on a Core World planet and Krennic flatly refuses to let Jyn onto the ship. 

“But --”

“No. You know it isn’t safe.” He’s very stern and very beautiful. She had cut his hair a few days ago, not too much, just enough that now it curls around his ears. There had been some wry banter about trusting her with scissors and she’s still remembering the calm smile in his eyes as he tipped his head back for her.

“All right.” But then she catches his hand. “You won’t be long?”

His expression softens. “No, of course not. You know I won’t.” He kisses her gently before he leaves but she still frets and worries the whole half day he’s away. Even though she knows it’s stupid, even though she knows he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself, a thousand awful scenarios go tumbling through her head. She tries to keep herself busy, goes and spends time with Akrsh and Mazr. But all the while through their chatter, she’s thinking of him on the Tangara, of him going through the spaceports and the outposts, travelling through Hutt space and Imperial systems, of the thousand terrible things that could tear him permanently away from her. And it’s not just that -- she feels unprotected now. Even though it galls her, even though she has a knife strapped to her thigh, and the blaster is in the house, even though she’s surrounded by Myneyrshi friends who would defend her and her unborn child. She feels exposed without him.

Girr sees her fidgeting, watches her with care. And when the girls are distracted by the latest gadget Reed’s brought them, she comes over to sit with Jyn and touches her hand. “He’ll be back soon, why are you so worried?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” She’s gasping now, her breath tight in her chest.

“Breathe,” says Girr firmly. “Breathe and look at me, look at my face. Tell me about the morning meal. What did you have?”

Jyn stammers and slowly calms down, focusing on the beautiful contours and colours of Girr’s long face. And after she’s detailed everything they ate that morning, she takes a breath and says in a rush, “He told me what happened to your -- to their -- to your husband.” 

Girr looks very irritated. “Did he? Well, that was stupid of him.”

“No, I asked. I wanted to know. I’m so sorry.” Jyn squeezes her hand. “I’m so sorry that happened to your family.”

Girr sighs, the grief passing like a shadow over her face. “Yes. Well, that’s our lot as Myneyrshi, isn’t it? If the Psadan don’t get us like they did my children’s father, then we risk what happened to poor Reed. And yet --” her eyes are bright and intense “-- yet we still live and we thrive and we beat them back, and Reed comes home and makes a new family for himself. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

When the Tangara appears over the village and swoops down beyond the canopy, Jyn makes herself go back into the house and brew up some tea for their guest. It’s in the middle of pouring the hot water into the cups that an image slips into her mind, so vivid she nearly laughs. This time a year ago, she and the guys were chasing leads in Taris. Cassian had shot some Vong in the kneecap while Baze and Chirrut were taking down the informant’s friends, all of them in some filthy alley strung with coloured flags overhead. And she was sitting on her haunches at the feet of a grumbling Kaytoo, sharpening a knife and wondering if she’d get to question the Vong before Cassian killed him.

They would be looking for her, every single day since she left. Even though she’d left them a note, said it was entirely her decision and that they weren’t to follow or try to find her, of course they would be.

And if they connect her to Krennic …

The front door opens and her father steps in, so tall he has to duck his head under the lintel.

Jyn freezes in place, eyes wide and heart pounding. Galen Erso walks slowly to the kitchen counter, staring at her like she is the only thing in the galaxy, like he has never ever seen her before. 

She realises then that he hasn’t.

“Jyn.” 

He looks so much older and more tired than she’d ever imagined, than the faint glimmer of her memory and all the holo stills she’s seen over the years of pursuing him. 

“Hello,” she says, her voice odd. He nods a little to himself, understanding something she either hasn’t said or didn’t mean to convey.

“Where’s, where’s Krennic?” she asks. 

Her father’s face tightens with displeasure, and suddenly she wonders at the conversation Krennic had to have with him. Her hand coming to the proud large swell of her belly, she tilts her chin with some defiance.

“He’s making arrangements for accommodations, I think. For --”

“Did you come with Nari?”

“Yes. And Bodhi Rook. He’s my --”

“I know who he is,” she interrupts. “What do you want?”

That shocks him, even upsets him. “Jyn --” he puts his hand on the counter. “I didn’t -- I did everything for you. You must know that.”

“What did you do?” she sneers. “What did you actually do? Failed to protect my mother, failed to protect me --” she hears herself and a tiny earthquake goes through her “-- and then you left the project, left --”

“I didn’t know she had you! She never -- all those years -- and you never --”

Jyn stands very straight and very cold. “I knew where my loyalties lay. They certainly weren’t with a father who was never there for me.”

Galen closes his eyes, so much pain on his face that she pauses for a moment, her cruel delight faltering.

“And now what? You’ve come to me in my time of need? Or because I’ve clearly reformed and am a good and saintly person now? Is that what you think?”

He stares at her, alarmed. “Krennic said --” And then he hears himself, suddenly reminded. With an effort, her father regains his composure and says stiffly, “I understand you’re in a relationship with, with Krennic --”

“When did he tell you?”

Galen’s eyes flicker. “A few hours ago.” 

“That I was alive? Or that --” she gestures downwards. Her father’s expression gets even more pinched as he looks at her belly. 

“Everything,” he admits with some difficulty. “I didn’t know you were alive until a few hours ago.”

That’s when Jyn marvels at the sheer viciousness of the father of her child, the coldness and clarity of mind that required all these months of careful separation, of duplicity. All the months of betraying a lifelong friendship. For her? For their child?

And then she understands. For the Rebellion.

_____________

 

It’s a long and confused night, of so much talking and awkward silence. Nari Sable hugs her and tells her she looks exactly like her mother which she knows isn’t entirely true. Bodhi Rook is indeed a small twitchy man with dark hair and big anxious eyes. He’s fascinated by the Myneyrshi and their weaponry but stays always within sight of her father. They all join the evening meal, and she doesn’t know whether she’s glad or hurt that Krennic chooses to sit with Reed and Tkir than with her.

Afterwards, Nari comes back to the house with her, and they spend hours talking about Lyra. About the explorations and kyber crystals, and how her mother brought her along on the last survey of Alpinn.

“You don’t remember?” asks Nari with concern.

Jyn shakes her head. “Nothing at all. I only remember that last day. Nothing before then.”

“Oh,” says Nari, crestfallen. 

“Was, was my mother Force-sensitive?” 

She gets a grin then. “I thought the Empire didn’t believe in the Force,” Nari teases, all lively green eyes and laugh lines in her creased face.

Jyn thinks of the kindly old bearded guy with his burning yellow eyes, and her mouth twists. “Yeah, well, there are differences of opinion. She wasn’t, was she? There’s nothing in any of the --”

“No, she could feel it,” Nari considers. “She couldn’t use it, I know that. But there were so many times on certain planets where she could feel the life force, where she would talk about the kyber crystals and how Galen was --” she stops and looks guiltily at Jyn. “Um, you know about --”

“I know.” That’s a conversation she’ll have later with her father. If she’s allowed.

“She did say when she was pregnant with you that she felt it so much more then, a kind of heightened perception and sensitivity to the Force.”

Jyn stifles a laugh, thinking about her own idiosyncratic sensitivity, how Krennic will laugh when she tells him about this absurd difference.

“I think that’s also why she didn’t like what Galen was doing -- his research with the crystals. I don’t -- I’m not sure exactly what happened,” Nari says carefully. “But I know it was a source of tension in their relationship.”

“Why exactly? Because it was disrespectful to the Force?”

“No … more that -- she felt it was too dangerous, that even though your father meant well, that he was trying to use the crystals to develop a sustainable energy and help so many planets that needed an alternative source --” Nari shakes her head. “Your mother felt it was too powerful an energy, that in the wrong hands, it could be far too destructive.” Jyn gets a small smile then. “Your mother was no fool, you know.”

She smiles back. “I know. People did tend to underestimate her.”

“Always. And then she showed them.” In the small heavy silence, her mother’s friend says, “I miss her so much. Every day when I’m out there, in the caverns, every day there’s at least once I want to turn to her and say, ‘Look, Lyra, look at this.’ And every day I have to realise she’s gone.”

As Jyn reaches out, her own heart heavy with grief, Nari clasps her hand and says earnestly, “I wish you could have known her, remembered her. She loved you so much. She was so proud of how clever and curious you were. I wish --” tears in the green eyes “-- I wish she could have seen what an impressive woman you’ve grown into.”

Jyn wonders then quite cynically just how much Krennic’s told this one. “Thank you so much. For everything, Nari, thank you so much for telling me about her.”

When the house is finally quiet and still, Krennic comes to the doorway of their bedroom, a cautious hand on the jamb as he looks in at her. Jyn takes in a breath, sitting in the middle of their bed with her hands linked on her belly. She’s been waiting for him.

“All these months and you didn’t tell him. Why?”

He comes in, a sort of lethal grace about his movements that she recognises as so much coiled tension. “He would have wanted to see you,” Krennic replies, matter of fact.

She gazes up at him as he stands by their bed, the dim golden light catching the freckles across his cheekbones. “And you couldn’t have that.”

A silence of one beat, two.

“No.”

There’s a tightness in her chest now, quite different to the anxiety of before. This feels like pain. “You still don’t trust me.”

His eyes are so very clear and cool, the same pitiless intelligence. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” And his voice falters on the last syllable, his composure slipping to some terrible vulnerability. For a moment, she almost puts her hand out to him, every maudlin reassurance leaping to her lips, pouring out of her heart.

Then she remembers herself. And everything that still separates them. That he still, to this day, after all they’ve shared, would choose the safety and security of the Rebellion over her. She knows it. And maybe that shouldn’t bother her, shouldn’t make her so wildly angry inside. But it does. 

So she lowers her eyes and turns away from him, lays herself down in their bed. In the stillness of the room, his breathing is rapid and anguished for a few moments. But then it steadies. And in a little while, the light turns out and he joins her, the sleek naked warmth of his skin brushing up against her.

On her side, Jyn says to the dark wall, “Why did you bring him then? Why now?”

“Because maybe you need him now.”

“Because of the birth?”

“Yes.” 

Flower strewn boats float through her mind, never far away. And Krennic says in the dark, “He’s trying, you know. He wants so much to connect with you, to explain --”

“I don’t care.” She smooths her hand over the curve of her belly, smiling at the way their child moves with her. “I don’t care about his science, I don’t care about his pain.”

Krennic is silent for a while. Long enough that she makes the struggle of turning over to face him. “You don’t like me very much right now, do you?”

In the glimmer of moonlight from the window, his eyes seem stormy. “I’ve seen that man suffer and worry about you for years, spend years running from the Empire, searching for you, losing hope, thinking you were dead all this time, then starting the search all over again. He didn’t -- is that it,” he says with sudden intensity, his gaze seizing on her face. “Do you blame him for not knowing where you were?”

She snorts, unsure herself.

“What is it then?” There’s a great effort of calm in his voice and expression. “You’re spending all this time chasing after a mother who isn’t here anymore, and you’ve got this -- you have a parent right here who loves you, who is just as important as the one you lost. Why is she more important?”

“I told you why,” Jyn says with her own calm. “I need her now. I have never needed him. She is my now, she connects me to my child, our child. And I won’t apologise for not feeling that way about my father, and I won’t be shamed for it either, Orson.”

He grimaces and mutters, “Don’t call me that. You know I don’t --”

But he does understand, she feels it, feels the acrimony between them defuse just a little. Enough that she can put her hand on his bare chest and draw tiny circles on his skin as she watches his profile in the moonlight. 

“Your father had his own dreams for you, you know.” Krennic says this distantly, his hand coming to move with hers. 

Jyn peers at him, thinking through the layers, and maybe starts to understand. “Like what?” she asks, curious.

He waves a diffident hand. “Like … I don’t know … teaching his daughter how to fly. How to navigate, talk to a ship computer. Learning the systems and the galaxy, how to -- which ports, which planets have the best food, the most interesting music. Spectacular scenery. Just showing her … the wonders of everything.”

There’s nothing she can say to that. But tentatively, she cuddles closer to him, touches her lips to his cheek. He sighs and turns his face to find her mouth with his.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” she murmurs eventually, as if she hadn’t already decided that.

___________

 

The next day she asks Galen to walk with her. And very soon she realises that guilt hangs around him like a stench, in the way he’s afraid to touch her and the way he looks at her. She wants none of it and yet Krennic’s words sting in her mind. 

“Do you know why I asked Nari Sable to come here?”

Her father walks with his hands in his pockets, tall and a little hunched, the sun catching the grey in his hair. “Yes. Krennic said you wanted to hear about your mother.”

“That’s right.” She stops for a moment, breathless with a sudden weird sensation through her body. “Yes, people have been telling me what she meant to them, their histories of her.”

He glances at her, shrewd. “And you want to hear mine now? Our history of her?”

The word lances her heart, as it was well meant to. Suddenly all her anger and hard packed resentment shakes, the foundations exposed as crumbly. She looks up at her father’s face with all its sad eyes and sad lines, and feels something crack in her chest, like grief for both of them and the woman they lost.

But it’s too much too soon, and she glances away, wills the emotion down. “Tell me about the crystals. She didn’t like what you were doing.”

If Galen’s surprised by her tone or the subject shift, he lets it pass. “No, and she was right.”

The shock goes through Jyn in silence, hopefully unnoticed.

“We argued about it constantly and I understood too late, only when the Empire came after us, after the technology.”

“But you joined the project, anyway.” The sensation hasn’t abated, it’s like a deep constant ache now, a sort of shifting, nothing like what she understands a contraction to be like. She doesn’t panic, she listens to her father and listens to her body.

“Yes, because they were going to get there anyway, and I knew -- I hoped -- if I had lost you and I had lost Lyra, then the least I could do was maybe fix what I had done, somehow.”

“Fix how?” she asks with slow dawning alarm. And then starts to feel sick as her father tells her about the flaw he built right into the battle station, how it was her childhood story that inspired him. He’s so proud as he tells her, so innocent in his utter forgetting of where she comes from. She watches him with a mingling of horror and something like an awful tenderness because he is her haplessly trusting parent and she sees that now.

“Does the Rebellion know this?” she asks eventually as they turn back towards the village. The sun plays on the neatly shorn fields, on the green jungle canopy borders. 

He frowns. “Yes, I’ve told them. But they --”

“Did you tell someone other than Krennic?” She asks it without knowing, too many agendas clashing in her head now.

“Yes, of course.” He’s watching her with all puzzlement now. “They know but they need the plans. They think -- and they’re right -- that maybe the project engineers will have found and fixed the flaw by now.”

“They need the plans to be sure,” she murmurs.

“Yes, that’s right.” 

Back in the village, she returns her father to his anxious friend and she goes to find Krennic. He’s talking outside their house to Doula and Girr, his face brightening when he sees her approach.

“What’s going on?” she asks, wanting to cuddle up against him but instead restraining herself to touching his hand. 

“The rockpool,” Doula informs her through Girr. “I want it sanded down and properly smooth on the inside. No jagged edges anywhere. You understand, Krennic?”

He grins. “As you say, Doula.”

And then Girr says sharply, “What’s wrong? Jyn?”

Then she does lean against the strength of Krennic’s body, grateful for the quick firm way he holds her. “I don’t know. I just -- everything feels so strange. I don’t think it’s --” she laughs unsteadily up at his concerned expression. “It’s all right, I don’t think it’s a contraction. I just feel so … strange … like …”

“Like your bones are shifting?” asks Girr of her own accord. As Jyn stares with some horror at her, Girr adds, “They are. It’s quite normal.” Doula says something and Girr adds, “It’ll be soon now. Days, probably. Come along now, we better take a look at you.”

“Days?” Krennic echoes after them, a distinct note of panic in his voice. “What do you mean, days? There’s another two weeks -- days! Fuck!”

Things seem to move very fast after that. All the preparations seem to speed up, and Jyn struggles to keep up. Girr and Doula involve her in making a list of things she’ll need for when the baby arrives -- swaddling cloths, rags for her own post-birth bleeding, old towels, more clothes for her, tiny little clothes for the child. Tkir brings over some of those from when Sama and Radi were just born. “And bibs,” he says, “so many bibs. You can never have too many.”

“A cot,” Jyn exclaims. “We don’t even --”

“Don’t worry about that,” soothes Tkir. “I’ll get Reed to handle that.”

Making the list and checking it off with them helps Jyn feel much more in control of the situation. Outside, Krennic has gotten utterly obsessed with the inner surface of the rockpool. It takes him way longer than it should to decide it’s acceptable, by which time about half the village is fed up with him. Jyn decides to find it charming.

Nari decides to stick around to help, having made great friends of Akrsh and Mazr. As for Galen and Bodhi, they stay in the village, never any question that they would leave before the birth. 

Jyn’s contractions start around midday about two weeks before her due date. To her own surprise, she doesn’t panic. She informs Krennic very calmly and watches him panic. And under the supervision of Girr and Doula, she walks with increasing difficulty around and around the house, shadowed by a hovering Krennic. For a long while, she clenches her teeth against the pain until he yells that she isn’t making any sound and shouldn’t she be at least groaning by now? She glares at him with such venom that Girr starts to laugh.

Eventually he has to help her walk, his arm firm around her back. And the pain gets ferocious enough that she does start to gasp and hunch over, feeling her whole body taken over by this thing that is happening, will happen and cannot, absolutely cannot be stopped. “You’re all right, you’re all right,” Krennic chants against her temple, and she pushes against his strength, trying to absorb it somehow. “You can do this, come on,” he says, his voice tense. She can’t respond, too focused on herself.

It takes hours.

Then Doula announces that Krennic needs to go wash up. 

“No,” Jyn gasps, clutching at his shirt.

“The hell I am,” he snarls at Doula. “I’m not leaving.”

Girr actually rolls her eyes on Doula’s behalf. “You want to be part of this experience, you go and scrub yourself clean. We’re going to get Jyn into the pool soon, and we can’t have you there with anything that could infect her or the baby. Go!”

The moment the door closes on his reluctant face, Doula takes Jyn’s arm. “All right, my girl, let’s get you cleaned out. It won’t be long now.”

“Cleaned -- oh god,” Jyn stammers, remembering the significantly more unpleasant aspects she’d been warned of.

By the time she’s led out of the house, feeling very scoured inside, the sunshine is changing over the canopy. And Krennic isn’t back yet. Her contractions come very fast together now, wracking her whole body. She’s not just groaning now, she’s making deep guttural sounds, clutching the side of the rockpool as she eases her legs into the water.

“You’re all right, you’re all right,” coaxes Girr as they both help her in. Jyn has enough sense to look up and see they’ve arranged a series of privacy screens to shield the rockpool from the rest of the village. Somewhere beyond, she knows her father and Nari are there.

“Where’s Krennic? I want Krennic.” 

They won’t let her sit down yet so she grabs the sides of the pool, ready to scream at the pressure and pain wrenching her body apart. 

“No, no pushing yet,” Girr commands, and Jyn wants to cry.

“Where’s Krennic? I want him here, where is he!”

Her waters haven’t broken but they assure her that’s normal. And god, she can feel the child, she can feel the descent, her insides stretching to accommodate this living creature coming out of her.

“Where’s Krennic,” she bellows, “I want -- oh!” She hunches over, one long roar of pain echoing through her. And then through a blur of tears, she sees him and realises she’s just screamed his name, his first name.

“I’m here, I’m here, fuck!” He hurtles towards them and Doula grabs him hard by the collar, points to his boots. Jyn laughs through the tears at the absolutely filthy look he gives the old lady in response. But then he’s with her in the pool, almost all his clothes shed. She nearly falls into his arms, breathless with agony, wanting him to take it all from her and also knowing it’s entirely hers to own, to endure for this child of theirs.

It feels like another several hours, them lying in the pool together, she braced back against him, the thin dress soaked through. She loses all of her intellect, turns into a fierce fighting creature, fighting her own body to birth this child. The Myneyrshi women coax and command her, tell her when to push and when to stop. She screams a lot at them, and mostly she just screams until it’s too intense, too urgent that she can’t vocalise anymore. Her waters break at some point, she doesn’t really know when, but then she’s pushing under their instructions, and Krennic’s letting her dig her fingers into his forearms, her spine braced hard against his bare chest. She’s dimly aware of his mouth at her temple, of him saying things to her, of all his strength focused on her, surrounding her.

Their baby doesn’t inch out crown then head then shoulders. After all the pushing and screaming and cursing, she pops out in one swift rush, and Doula catches her deftly and glances up at Jyn. 

“No,” Jyn gasps, “let her -- the water -- let her stay for a while.” They had wanted the water birth for this very reason, to ease the trauma of transition from womb to world, and now Doula smiles at her as Jyn leans forward and keeps her daughter immersed, still safe and calm for a while yet, still connected. Now she feels Krennic’s lips against her shoulder, knows he’s watching their daughter squeeze her eyes closed and float in the warm messy water. “Here,” Jyn murmurs, “hold her with me.”

It’s surreal, everything seems tinged with a sort of golden haze of so much pain and yet so much growing euphoria. She sees Krennic’s big careful hands come around hers, feels the shudder go through him as he helps her support their baby. Who is so perfect, very red and very small but perfectly formed and solid in their hands.

“Here, now,” Girr says tenderly. “Bring her slowly out, lift her like -- yes, that’s right.”

The first breath is a cry, tremulous and then very indignant. Little fists twitching, and the little face screwing up with displeasure. Jyn laughs softly and lays her daughter against her breast, the tiny fist curling against the soaked blue fabric of her rucked up dress. And Krennic circles them with his arms, his heart beating so hard and so fast against Jyn’s shoulderblade. “Look,” she says softly, “look what we made.”

He laughs shakily, pressing a kiss against her temple. And she doesn’t mind when her body goes into the second small labour, too enraptured by the precious warm baby that breathes and dozes against her heart, feeling Krennic mesmerised in the same way.

“What’s her name?” he asks eventually, his voice so inexpressibly tender like there’s no one else in the world but the three of them.

“Liadan.” She glances at him for what feels like the first time in forever, wrapped in so much golden warmth and loveliness. “For your mother and mine. Do you like it?”

He gives her that particular smile she’s only ever seen a rare few times, slow and brightening into exquisite sweetness, all beautiful eyes and lovely curving mouth. It’s only then she realises how scrubbed his skin is, faintly pink and raw, his hair slicked back all dark silver. And he kisses her soft and warm. “It’s perfect,” he says between them. “She’s perfect. When did you think of it?”

“When you told me,” she admits and laughs at his expression.

__________

 

Liadan Erso Krennic was born just before sunset, and the rest of the night is a blur of exhausted bliss for Jyn. She knows her father and other people must have come into the house, must have seen her swaddled up with her child. But all she remembers is sinking into the bed, into a haze of softness and relief, remembers Krennic murmuring to her as she slides into sleep. 

The next few days are a slow return to reality. Except now reality is quite changed because she has a daughter who feeds at her breast and who smells like everything beautiful in the galaxy. She doesn’t even mind when Doula examines her, poking and prodding about in areas that are still a little too tender. Afterwards, Krennic tucks her hair behind her ear and strokes a fingertip down their daughter’s petal soft cheek as she nurses. He’s never too far from Jyn, and that’s exactly what she wants, secure in her command over him. 

They keep mirroring how they were in the rockpool, she sitting between his legs, her back against his chest as Liadan suckles at her nipple and Krennic watches. He trails his fingertip from Liadan’s cheek to the curve of Jyn’s breast, and there’s a certain lambent blue to his eyes when she lifts her face to his, wanting. It’s far too soon, she can’t even bear the thought but she still wants his mouth on hers, sighs into his warmth when he kisses her slow and not quite chaste. He looks at her quite differently now, with a sort of strong silent glow, a deep powerful happiness that doesn’t seem to need words. She’s not quite sure what to do with that.

Their daughter has her father’s eyes, and Jyn watches when they peer at each other, Liadan’s little fists brushing Krennic’s chin as he holds her with such care. The three of them sleep a lot, Liadan on her back between them, through the sunshine changing on their bed. More than once, Jyn surfaces from her dreams to the sound of Krennic murmuring to their child, telling her soft secret things that Jyn pretends not to hear, unable to stop her mouth curving as she drifts back into sleep.

Reed brings over a cot, hand carved and beautiful, and smiles with only a little sarcasm at Jyn when she thanks him. Akrsh and Mazr are utterly besotted with Liadan who seems perfectly indifferent to all the attention. Nari Sable says she’ll teach her how to explore caves and tell her all about her grandmother, something that makes Galen smile sadly. Jyn lets him hold Liadan, tells him why she is named that, and behind him Bodhi Rook beams at her, an irresistible purity about him. Through all this, Doula Tkara and Girr keep a watchful eye, really rather smug about the part they played in Liadan’s birth. 

For about three days, Jyn does nothing but bleed and sleep and nurse Liadan. Under Girr’s supervision, she fastens her mother’s crystal around her daughter’s fat little neck. And as the euphoria recedes, she thinks a lot. About her father’s lethal technology and the deliberate flaw, about the plans, about all those people aboard the battle station, her friends in the Empire. She watches Krennic talk to their tiny daughter, and thinks about how that wide innocent smile of his goes with all his merciless idealism and his allegiance to a cause that he won’t fully adopt, still too leery of ideology even though he practises it every day. 

They’re in the middle of it, she and him and now this tiny human life they’ve brought into the galaxy. For all these months, she’s been focused on this event, this ordeal to survive. And now that she’s made it through, now that this child is so real and breathing and clinging to her, there’s an energy that thrums wild and reckless in her chest.

On the fifth day, she strolls out to the Tangara with Liadan in a sling against her chest. Krennic has already introduced his daughter to his ship, not that she paid much attention to anything, and he’s already talking with some excitement about where to take her on her first space journey, how she’ll react to the noise and the vibration and the jump. Jyn had laughed and said, “I think you better check with Doula first, that’s all.”

Everyone else is at the evening meal. She’d said she needed a few bacta patches from the ship medical kit. Onboard, Nee-For whirrs forth with a quizzical beep and she tells him what she needs. He doesn’t protest and the transmission is sent quick and easy, just a string of coordinates. She walks back with Liadan fretting a bit, imagining the transmission glittering its way across the galaxy.

An hour or so later, she’s sitting on the lip of the rockpool, nursing Liadan under the arching dark blue skies so clear and peaceful for now. And she knows when Krennic approaches, lifts her head to see him walking slowly. As he emerges into the moonlight, his face is so cold, carved like something terrible and beautiful. There is a blaster on the rock parapet by her thigh, a knife tucked into the back of her trousers. Liadan fusses, the crystal catching light, her little fist pressing into the swell of Jyn’s bared breast. She knows all this, and keeps her expression neutral as Krennic nears. His hands are empty. She finds herself memorising the way his blue shirt hangs loose, the curve of the grey tank neckline against the skin of his chest, the way his hair curls silver against his neck.

He says nothing, stands close enough to touch but he doesn’t. He watches Liadan suckle. Maybe there’s grief in his face, maybe she imagines it. She won’t ask, she won’t speak until he does. Then he touches one fingertip to the curve of their daughter’s cheek, the way he always does. He crouches down, so much sad tenderness in the lines of his expressive face, in the crooked softness of his mouth. She thinks she knows then. It falls hard and heavy inside her. But she still waits, wants to hear him say it.

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand.” His voice is as cold as the eyes he lifts to her face. And then it’s like he’s memorising her features too, the way his gaze roams her face. “Why send it unsecured? You know you’re being monitored, you had to know Nee-For would tell me. Why make no --”

He stops, that glint of silver intelligence. “You wanted to see what I’d do. You --”

His words fail, then. Too much emotion in the way he looks back down at Liadan, in the incline of his neck as she waves her fists at him and gurgles around Jyn’s nipple. He strokes the soft cheek again, mouths something silent at her. And Jyn remembers that conversation with Reed on the boarding ramps, it’s been playing in her head for days now. She watches the shape of his profile, realising all over again how handsome he is, how weirdly she’s grown used to that so she doesn’t see it anymore. 

Krennic trails his fingertip from Liadan’s cheek to the curve of Jyn’s breast, that familiar caress that curls heat in the pit of her stomach. It’s the back of his hand now, a warm slide, up and up over her quickening breath. His hand fastens around her throat, takes her right back to the table in the steel room. She doesn’t move. 

“You want me to choose.” His mouth is very precise and controlled. And she sees all the emotion surge through all that coldness, sees it show in the glitter of his eyes, in the working of his face. He holds her fast and says: “You. Or the Rebellion.”

She says nothing.

“It’s a test, is it?”

Now her reaction shows despite herself, the tiny triumphant expression and flash of her eyes. “And?” she says against his hold, challenging him to the end. “What will you do? Hand me over to the Rebellion? Take our child from me?”

She pauses, then says it: “Kill me like you killed that boy?”

His face flinches, so much rage and so much --

The skies explode above them. Dark blue ripped to painful light and the bright awful shape of an Imperial star destroyer. Screams and yells in the village, the Myneyrshi already fleeing past the house, so much panic. Reed appears across the clearing. “Krennic!”

But they’re already up, Jyn pulling her shirt closed, and Liadan against her shoulder, crying softly from all the noise and light. Krennic sees the blaster but she grabs it before he can, ruthless and focused. There’s a whistling through the air above them, and they’re running without needing to warn each other, running as the little house explodes behind them. 

“The ship!” Krennic yells. It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s chosen her. She knows this as they run through the chaos and debris, TIE strikers swerving through the skies, Stormtroopers pounding through the smoke, overrunning the village. Liadan against her chest, Jyn fires upon the white shapes advancing, Krennic firing in the opposite direction. They plunge into the jungle slashed with strobes of light from the transports and strikers above, heading for the clearing.

The Tangara stands guarded by Death Troopers. 

Jyn catches her breath, it’s like she had forgotten how terrifying they look. Or maybe she never realised, now that all their menace is turned against her. Beside her, Krennic snarls, lunging forward, and she realises they have Nee-For restrained and beeping indignant, that Reed lies on the ground, bleeding and silent, as Tkir and the toddlers huddle over him. 

“Wait,” she says, suddenly hoarse.

“What?” Krennic snaps.

Jyn touches his arm, her gaze on the collapsed blue body. “Just wait. Here.” She hands Liadan over to him, a surreal and awful calm about her as the Myneyrshi village erupts in flames and screams beyond the canopy. 

She did this. Set all of this in motion.

“Hold her for me,” Jyn says and walks forward, slow and deliberate. 

“No. Fuck.” But he stays back, and she can feel all his fear and rage focused on her. 

She knows the Death Troopers recognise her as she approaches. One weapon trained on Krennic behind her, one on Tkir and the blubbering kids, and now two focus on her. She nods formally at them, feeling the ghost of her Imperial uniform somehow settle upon her skin, the crest proud on her shoulder. In stages, she crouches towards Reed, dimly aware that her post-birth bleeding has worsened with the running but is contained for now. Keeps her hands and her blaster visible at all times. “I just want to see if he’s alive.”

Tkir looks at her with streaming angry eyes across Reed’s body, the toddlers clutched hard to him. She’s very aware of the knife tucked into her trousers, calculating how to get it to him. But there’s something niggling at the back of her mind, something pushing at the concern when she touches Reed’s shoulder and he shudders a little, alive. And then she realises. 

Behind her, there’s a crack, a wounded roar from Krennic, and Liadan lets out a wail.

There were two Death Troopers unaccounted for, the same two now flanking Krennic on his knees, his hands behind his back, blood down the side of his face, and his blue eyes incandescent with fury. Jyn rises slowly to her feet, blaster unwavering and trained on the Director of the Imperial Army who stands, cool and white, with a screaming Liadan in her arms.

“Jyn Erso, you’ve done well.”

“Have I?” She hears her own voice, distantly astonished that it doesn’t shake from all the violence and terror roaring through her.

Unperturbed by the racket, Mon Mothma glances to where a pair of Stormtroopers come out of the jungle, escorting Galen Erso between them. Behind him are little Bodhi Rook and Nari Sable, distressed to be guided by a group of men Jyn recognises with a pang in her chest. Cassian and Baze and Chirrut, their weapons charged, staring at her with confusion. 

“Oh yes.” Mon Mothma turns a small pleased smile on Jyn. “Very well, I’d say. A mission --” she flicks a glance at Krennic with his head bent “-- perfectly executed.”

“Jyn,” her father says heavily across the clearing. “What have you done?”

Irritated by so much distraction, she flicks her free hand to silence him, keeping the blaster steady. One wrong inch and Liadan --

“I’m glad you think so,” she says to Mon Mothma. “But really, I need you to give me my child back.”

The Director raises fine auburn brows. “Of course. You’ll come back to the Empire with your child. The transport’s waiting. Your job awaits. Your life --” she says with pointed emphasis “-- awaits. As was planned.”

“Her life isn’t fucking yours.” Krennic raises his head, blue eyes hateful, snarling through the blood. “She doesn’t need you anymore.”

“No?” Mon Mothma gives Jyn an amused glance. “Has he offered you a better life, Jyn Erso? Are you --” she says with perfect mockery “-- one of the **_good guys_** now?”

“He has nothing to do with this,” Jyn says steadily, taking a few careful steps forward. “All I’m asking is that you hand my daughter back to me. If you want me to come with you, I will --”

Krennic flinches at that. Her father moans, “No.”

Jyn keeps walking forward, aware of the Death Troopers ready to fire. Her eyes locked on Mothma, she says, “I thank you for everything you’ve done for me, for taking me in when I had no one, for raising me, for making me the woman I am. But she is not yours, Mon Mothma. She is not yours to take and mold into the weapon you want. Please. Let me have her. Let me keep her.”

The Director of the Imperial Army frowns a little as Jyn stops a foot before her. “Is that what I did with you? Is that what you think?”

“I --”

“I gave you everything,” Mon Mothma snaps, eyes flashing fury. “Everything you are now, Jyn Erso, is because of me.”

“I know --”

But it isn’t true. Jyn realises that even as she sees Krennic bend his head, as the crystal around Liadan’s neck glitters.

“-- and I thank you for everything,” she says, looking Mon Mothma in the eye. “But you will never have her.”

The bolt blows the Director’s head wide apart, so much gore splattering as the body crumples and Jyn catches her screaming child with one arm, blasting the Death Troopers away with the other. Behind her is the spark and sizzle of Nee-For electrocuting something, the enraged yell from Tkir wielding her knife. Around the clearing, the jungle erupts with the Myneyrshi armed to the teeth. Jyn holds Liadan, still screaming, to her chest and scrambles over to where Krennic is struggling against the binders.

“Fuck, fuck this, what the fuck -- get me out of these,” he snarls at her and then sighs and kisses her hard. “What the fuck did you do?” he groans against her mouth, stooping to kiss Liadan’s forehead and recoiling at the blood and stuff on her. Jyn laughs, a little unhinged.

Above them, the skies light up with the arrival of fighter craft, scaring Liadan into silence, and Nari yells, “It’s the Rebellion!”

“Well, thank fuck for that,” Krennic mutters and kisses Jyn again. She cuddles Liadan between them, responding to him with the insanity and adrenaline of the battlefield. They stay like that on their knees, kissing, until the Imperial attack is contained and some Rebellion soldier unlocks Krennic’s binders, helping them to their feet. Her face against his shoulder, Jyn can’t stop shaking, can’t stop Liadan whimpering between them.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Krennic says, putting his arms around them as soon as he can. He holds them tight, the same shaking adrenaline going through him.

“I love you,” Jyn blurts out, pulling back so she can look into his bloodied beautiful face. “I don’t care if you don’t love me back, I just -- I have to say --”

“Shut the fuck up,” Krennic tells her unsteadily. “I love you too, you know that. Why the fuck would we do any of this, any of it, if, if -- oh fuck,” he says helplessly and kisses her with all that powerful emotion she’d seen and sensed. Squashed between them, Liadan bears this with some patience and then decides to start screaming again.

____________

 

There’s an awful lot of talking and yelling in the hours that follow. While the Myneyrshi count their dead and the Rebellion help them tend to the wounded, Natasi Daala arrives and wastes no time in telling Jyn, “You weren’t supposed to kill her!”

“Wasn’t I? Oh dear.” 

Beside her, Krennic shakes with mirth, and Jyn bites her lip as she gives a drowsing Liadan to him. She’s distantly worried about Reed but Krennic’s already gone to see him while she was checking her own bleeding, and said he’s being taken care of, that Girr and Doula and the girls are relatively unharmed. Now she and Krennic are on the Tangara, sitting on the berth while Daala paces in and out of the doorway. 

“This is -- my god. Do you realise what you’ve done?”

“She’s upset the entire political spectrum of the galaxy,” Krennic replies cheerfully, patting Liadan on the back as she mouths his slightly bloodspattered blue shirt at the shoulder.

“Well …” Jyn replies, grinning at him. “I am my mother’s daughter.” 

As Krennic shouts with laughter, she realises she’s just as lightheaded with joy, exhilarated at the sense of freedom and so many possibilities laid out before them.

“What?” snaps Daala. “No, it isn’t that simple! Someone else will step into her place, someone else will take control of that project. Don’t think this is the end of it!”

It’s a sobering reminder. “You still need the plans,” Jyn says, thoughtful.

“Yes. Yes, we do.” And there’s speculation in the way Daala regards them both. 

Jyn glances across at Krennic. “What do you think?”

He raises his brows, subtle and expressive. “I think the Rebellion can take care of that, don’t you? We have more important things to think about.” Right on cue, Liadan sneezes mightily against her father’s shoulder.

“And besides,” Jyn adds, turning back to Daala. “You have other Imperial assets now. You have a way in.”

“That’s true,” Daala says slowly, frowning. “But to convince them --”

“I can help with that.” 

It’s not redemption, she tells herself. She doesn’t need that. It’s helping the people in front of her, never mind the political ideology. As Daala leaves, Jyn watches Krennic lay a dozing Liadan in the centre of the berth, his movements so careful. And she remembers.

“What did you decide?”

He glances back at her, silver hair falling across his brow. “Hmm?”

Coming to lie down beside their child, Jyn looks up into his face, not sure whether she’s anxious or merely curious now. “Me or the Rebellion. What were you going to do?”

“Oh.” The corner of his mouth curls, and he lies down on Liadan’s other side. His eyes are very clear and very determined. “I was going to get us on the ship and take you to the furthest fucking planet I could find, where nobody could trace us. Not the Empire, not the Rebellion.” He reaches across to her, and she gives him her hand, watches as he brings it to his lips and kisses her fingertips. “No one’s taking you or her from me.”

As Jyn smiles at him, impossibly happy, he smirks at her. “Patriarchal enough for you?”

She laughs. “Shocking.”

Outside, there’s the sound of Nee-For whirring up the boarding ramps, followed by the clumping of footsteps. Liadan stirs unhappily, and Jyn strokes her chest to calm her down, thinking. Their little house has been blown to bits but it was never theirs. They should stay to help rebuild the village, she wants that. But after that?

Reed’s already told Krennic groggily that he doesn’t want to fly anymore, that he wants to stay on Wayland with his family, turn all his tech knowledge to help the village. And now Jyn can’t shake the image of flying the galaxy in the Tangara, just her and Krennic and Liadan, watching their daughter growing up on the ship and in the spaceports and cantinas, visiting all the worlds like Lyra did. 

Krennic will want to infiltrate the Kessel mines, follow the trail of that captured family. And already Jyn’s considering the contacts she could touch on. As Liadan fusses some more at the noise outside, Jyn is distracted by an amused thought. With a grin, she kisses her daughter’s cheek and says across to Krennic with his soft blue eyes: “Do you think I’m going to get in trouble for violating my orders?”

“What, for decapitating an Imperial director?” he says wryly and rolls out of bed, heading towards the open doorway. 

“No, for using a weapon when I’m --”

The door slams shut before Krennic gets there, cutting off all sound from outside, and Liadan snuffles with contentment, settling back into her dreams. 

Jyn and Krennic stare at each other for several seconds, and then he gets slowly back into bed, his mind clearly racing as fast as hers. As Jyn rearranges all their plans, the father of her child strokes their daughter’s cheek and declares with a particular feral delight: “The galaxy is doomed.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I wrote a fic this long in the Star Wars fandom, jesus freaking christ, so much research. Thank christ for Wookieepedia.
> 
> The idea of Mothma taking Liadan is entirely from shanjedi after they read the first fic and flailed at me in Tumblr Messenger. Thanks, mate! *winks*
> 
> And in case you're wondering, Liadan is pronounced as Lee-ah-dun. My favourite character from the Sevenwaters series by Juliet Marillier, yes. It was happy coincidence that Lyra is pronounced Lee-ra rather than Lie-ra, hehe. You have no idea how much I wanted to make it so Lyra didn't die and reappeared at the end of the fic cos she was in hiding all this time. But that will have to be another story in another AU, I think. Cos I still have so many feels about Lyra. She deserved better!
> 
> Also, might I remind you that this is all onstraysod's fault cos she's the one who sent me the Rebel Krennic/Imperial Jyn prompt in the first place? Oh yes. :p


End file.
